


In Darkness Unbroken [Beats Still Unceasing]

by Piaculum



Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dorian Pavus Has Issues, Drunk Dorian Pavus, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, M/M, Multi, Polyamorous Inquisitor (Dragon Age), Protective Dorian Pavus, Protective The Iron Bull (Dragon Age), Rite of Tranquility, Tranquil Inquisitor (Dragon Age)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-07
Updated: 2020-06-08
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:33:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 22,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22330381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Piaculum/pseuds/Piaculum
Summary: When Inquisitor Lavellan is captured by Red Templars, the Rite of Tranquility is performed. Dorian and The Iron Bull struggle to live with what has happened to their partner as they desperately search for a cure.***NOTE*** This is a less explicit version of my other work, "In Darkness Unbroken [Shrouded in Night]". If you want a more graphic/darker adaptation of this story, please read the other version (but be wary of the warnings/tags)!
Relationships: Anders/Male Hawke, Iron Bull/Dorian Pavus, Iron Bull/Male Lavellan, Iron Bull/Male Lavellan/Dorian Pavus, Male Inquisitor/Dorian Pavus, Male Inquisitor/Iron Bull, Male Inquisitor/Iron Bull/Dorian Pavus, Male Lavellan/Dorian Pavus, Male Mage Lavellan/Dorian Pavus
Comments: 11
Kudos: 58





	1. By Cruel Magic Taken

**Author's Note:**

> Canticle of Andraste 1:07

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our story begins...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Canticle of Andraste 1:05
> 
> Also, a quick PSA: I’m using “qunari” to reference Bull’s race but “Qunari” (capital ‘Q’) to reference followers of the Qun

"Let them build temples and lure the faithful with promises. Their pride will consume them, and I, forgotten, will claim power of my own"

-Geldauran's Claim, _Dragon Age: Inquisition_

* * *

Emprise du Lion was colder than Thel'hen had remembered. Despite the fire blazing at their campsite, the winter wind bit at his exposed skin as it whistled through the surrounding mountains. The fresh snow glinted in the afternoon sun as The Iron Bull wrapped his arms around Thel'hen, making him jump in surprise.

"Don't sneak up on me like that, Bull!" Thel'hen cried in protest. Cassandra looked over and gave one of her trademarked disgusted sighs at the public display of affection; Varric simply chuckled.

"Sorry, _k_ _adan_ ," the Bull said with a smile. "You just looked so cold." Thel'hen huffed but leaned into the Bull's embrace nevertheless. "It's a good thing we didn't bring Dorian along," The Iron Bull continued. "I know he wasn't thrilled about being left behind—his insistence on my promising to keep you safe made that abundantly clear—but if we brought him we'd never hear the end of his complaining. 'Too-cold-this' and 'I'm-freezing-that'. I love the man as much as you do, but I don't want to be frozen _and_ annoyed."

"You're probably right, _ma_ _vhenan_ ," Thel'hen sighed. "Let's keep going, shall we? I may not complain as much as Dorian, but I'd also rather be someplace warmer." And just like that, they were off again, trekking through knee-high snow as the winds rose around them. They walked in silence, even Varric unwilling to waste energy on sarcastic remarks. Thel'hen didn't realize something was wrong until he bumped into the Bull, who had stopped in front of him. 

"What is it?" Cassandra called from behind them. "Why have we stopped?"

"Darkspawn," the Bull grunted.

"How many? Have they seen us?" Cassandra asked.

"Four, and no. But that'll change quickly unless we get out of sight," the Bull replied.

"Only four?" Varric quipped. "We can take four, can't we, Seeker? We'll even be home in time for tea!"

"You don't drink tea," Cassandra replied, clearly unamused.

"Well that's not the point, now is it?" Varric answered. "Let's just take them out and be done with it. The less darkspawn wandering around the better."

"I agree with Varric," Thel'hen said as he drew his staff. "Bull, you lead the charge. Cassandra will take the left wing while Varric and I attack from the right; the mountain-pass is too narrow for us to slip behind them unnoticed." The party nodded in agreement and the Bull drew his axe with a grin.

"Let's kick some darkspawn ass!" the Bull screamed as he charged. The darkspawn's dead eyes snapped towards the group, but they still had the element of surprise. The Bull's axe came crashing down on one, nearly splitting it in half as blood sprayed across the newly fallen snow. Cassandra slammed another with her shield, knocking it off its feet. Just as planned, Thel'hen and Varric stayed back from the main fighting, sending a volley of arrows and ranged spells to aid their friends in the battle. As Cassandra tangled with the third darkspawn, the one she had knocked over rose to its feet and rushed her from behind. The Bull managed to grab it by the arm as he dislodged his axe from the first darkspawn, then slammed the unfortunate Hurlock into a nearby rock, it's body impacting the stone with a sickening splat. 

"Uhhhh, Inquisitor?" Varric yelled. "I think we have company behind us!"

Thel'hen spun around and his heart dropped like a stone. No less than a dozen Red Templars were closing in behind them, the sun reflecting crimson light across the snow as it hit the Red Lyrium protruding from their bodies. 

"They must have come up the side pass!" Thel'hen cried as he directed his next attack toward the oncoming group. They had come across it not long past, but none had given it much thought; the mountains were nothing if not full of passes that turned out to be dead ends. Thel'hen sent a bolt of lightning down onto the Templars, knocking a few off their feet as Varric reloaded Bianca and launched a bolt into the group. The cross-bolt pinged off a Templar's armor and Varric swore under his breath. They were getting closer.

The Iron Bull was pulling his axe out of a Darkspawn's torso when he heard it. Thel'hen's scream pierced the cold air like the crack of a whip, causing the Bull's heart to stop dead in his chest. He whirled around just in time to see the Inquisitor's limp form being thrown over the shoulder of a Red Templar as Varric struggled to keep the swarm of Templars back. Time seemed to slow as The Iron Bull watched the Red Templar retreat with Thel'hen with him. Over the pounding of his heart echoing in his ears, he realized someone was screaming. Then he realized that 'someone' was him. As he rushed forward, axe in hand, his vision blurred red. An unfortunate Templar met the end of the Bull's axe and a nauseating crunch told the Bull that the man's ribcage had completely collapsed. His eyes darted frantically around the mountainside as he searched for any sign of Thel'hen, but there were too many Templars in his way for him to see much further than a few feet. The next few minutes raced by in a blur as Cassandra, Varric, and The Iron Bull tore through the remaining Templars. When all was done, the once serene landscape was a jarring contrast of white snow and deep red blood. Cassandra pulled her sword free of the last Templar and gave the Bull a panicked look.

"Where is the inquisitor?" she asked shakily, her breath still rapid from the battle. Varric couldn't even look them in their eyes as he replied:

"They got him."

* * *

Thel'hen awoke with a start. His arms and legs were bound, the ropes stinging against his skin as he tried to sit up. _Where... where am I?_ he thought with difficulty. _What happened?_ As he looked around the stone walls of what he assumed must be some sort of prison cell, his attempts at casting any sort of magic only produced a cold dread. The stinging of the ropes, that pungent yet slightly sweet smell in the air, the unforgiving nausea in his stomach— _Magebane,_ he realized. _That's why I have no mana left. They've soaked the ropes in magebane._ The loud scraping sound of the cell door being torn open jolted Thel'hen back to his senses. A man with fair brown hair and unnaturally pale green eyes stood before him, wearing nothing but light fur-lined armor; he had no shield, no sword, no staff. No weapons. _Well, this can't be good._

"Good morning, Inquisitor," the man said as he crouched down to look Thel'hen in the eyes. "I had asked my men to bring you in unharmed, but... you certainly made their job more difficult than it had to be. I am Imshael," he continued as he extended a hand for Thel'hen to shake, before laughing as if just remembering Thel'hen's bonds. "Oh, right. You're not exactly able to shake hands right now. That's quite alright, I never really understood that mortal tradition anyway."

"I wouldn't touch you even if I could, _demon,_ " Thel'hen spat. It was all coming together now; the Red Templar's ambush in the mountains, Ser Michel de Chevin's tales of a desire demon who had taken up residence in Suledin Keep, everything. 

" _Choice Spirit_ ," Imshael corrected. "'Demon' is such a nasty term, as if having desires is in of itself immoral. Everyone has desires, Inquisitor. Not everyone makes the choice to act upon them." Thel'hen struggled against his bonds, but the ropes tearing into his wrists and ankles only gave the magebane direct access to his bloodstream. The stinging, which had originally felt like the pricking of a thousand tiny needles, swelled to the dull roar of a blazing fire against his skin; it took all of his effort not to cry out in pain.

"And what choice would you offer me, _demon_?" Thel'hen said, trying to distract himself from the newfound torment in his limbs.

" _Choice. Spirit._ " Imshael corrected again, a hint of anger beginning to flicker in his voice. "And the choice is a simple one. The Elder One wants information, information that _you_ have. Answer my questions and I will give you—" a sick smile crept into the demon's face "—a merciful death." In any other situation, Thel'hen would likely have laughed; but staring into the eyes of an ancient desire demon with no magic, no Inquisition, and no protection? It took all of his willpower not to tremble. "We'll get what we need out of you either way," Imshael continued. "How much time and pain that requires is up to you. It's your choice."

"I must say, those are some pretty shit choices," he replied, attempting to mask his fear with sarcasm as Dorian had so adeptly taught him. Imshael's smile grew even broader.

"Indeed," he replied. "So, Inquisitor. What will it be?"

Thel'hen spat in the man's face. "Void take you," the elf hissed as Imshael whipped Thel'hen's bloodied saliva from his eye.

"Alright," Imshael said gaily. "Fun way it is."


	2. Heav'n filled with Silence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Iron Bull, Cassandra, and Varric finally manage to track down the Inquisitor. Unfortunately for them, they have arrived too late...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Canticle of Andraste 1:11

"And he thought of a folded paper bird, wings spread, tossed into a muddy puddle and trampled underfoot"

- _Dragon Age Short Story: Paper & Steel_

* * *

Dorian woke with a start. He was cold _—_ unusually cold _—_ but it was the dreams that had jolted him awake. He rubbed his temples as he tried to remember what had happened, but the nightmare slipped away from his mind as quickly as frost flees in firelight. 

_Perhaps I should clear my head_ , he thought to himself. He usually had trouble sleeping when Thel'hen was away; he had become so used to having the elf and the Bull in his bed that sleeping without them proved difficult, although he would give neither Thel'hen nor The Iron Bull the satisfaction of this knowledge. He had taken to wandering the fortress at night when his mind struggled to drift into the Fade, and tonight, he decided, would be no exception. Dorian threw on a light cloak before descending to Skyhold's main courtyard. The moon shone brightly overhead as Dorian took a deep breath of the cool night air.

_See? Everything is fine—_

"Cold, confused, dark but also red, the sick song is slowly growing louder."

" ** _Fasta vass!_** " Dorian screamed as he jumped in alarm. Cole had appeared on the battlements next to him, sitting cross-legged as he stared up at the stars. "What have I told you about sneaking up on me like that?!"

"Shock and shame and hurt, but it isn't his fault," Cole continued. "Lots of things are lost in the mountains."

"What are you on about?" Dorian asked, crossing his arms in a desperate attempt to hide how startled he was under a veil of annoyance. Cole slowly turned his head and met Dorian's eyes. 

"Something's wrong."

* * *

Varric had managed to track the Red Templars' retreat through the mountains, but the winter winds made the work slow-going at best and near impossible at worst. It had taken a few days due to the storm, but eventually they found themselves outside the towering walls of Suledin Keep. 

"Just our luck," Cassandra sighed. "It was wise of them to retreat to the Keep. We will have to wait for reinforcements before entering."

"Like Void we will," the Bull snapped. "We're getting him back. Now."

"The Seeker is right," Varric reluctantly interjected. "We simply don't have the manpower to capture Suledin Keep with just the three of us."

"I'm not waiting," The Iron Bull growled. Varric shot a nervous glance at Cassandra, who in turn shot a nervous glance at the Bull.

"Listen, Tiny, if the three of us go in alone we will die. Which means the Inquisitor will also die. I wouldn't call myself a genius, but _—_ "

"You call yourself a genius constantly, dwarf!" the Seeker protested.

" _—BUT_ I don't think any of us want that," Varric continued. "I'm not asking you to wait for the whole bloody Inquisition, Tiny, just for a few troops. We've already got people in the area, we just need to give them a few days to get here."

"A few days?!" The Iron Bull fumed. "They're not playing Wicked Grace with him, Varric! I know how you Southerners treat your mages, and I've seen what this red lyrium shit can do. They could be killing him, or worse. I _will not_ take that risk." Cassandra opened her mouth as if to say something about how mages were treated under the Qun, but a quick glare from Varric told her that now was not the time for such arguments.

"Fine, just a day. Just give us a day for reinforcements," the dwarf offered.

"I said _**no**_."

Silence hung in the air as The Iron Bull seethed and Varric looked at Cassandra for help. The Seeker hung her head and sighed loudly before speaking.

"I suppose we will just have to make do. After all, the entire Inquisition is at stake."

"Yeah, so, no pressure" Varric muttered under his breath.

* * *

Thel'hen's head was pounding when he woke. The world was spinning around him as he struggled to keep his eyes open. Cold shackles held his wrists together, and he had not the strength to try to escape them. Someone _—no, multiple someones—_ were chanting softly around him as a red light shone across the stone floor. He tired to move, tired to think, tired to do anything, but his head was swimming and his limbs felt like stone. A figure, fading in and out of focus, approached him with something held in his hand. Was someone screaming outside? It was suddenly getting very loud, or maybe that was just a dream... maybe this was all just a dream. The figure placed a finger under Thel'hen's chin and lifted his head. It was then that he saw it; the brand of Tranquility. The realization of what was happening hit Thel'hen like a charging druffalo, but he was powerless to stop it. The noises outside were getting louder, and the figures around him began exchanging nervous glances. They began to chant louder and faster as Thel'hen desperately attempted to clear the fogginess out of his head. The room grew suddenly quiet as Imshael's face solidified before Thel'hen's eyes. The demon holding the brand simply smiled.

"Any last words?"

" _Dirthara-ma din'an, elgar_ ," Thel'hen wheezed as Imshael lowered his face down towards his. The demon smelled oddly of candied dates, and it took all of Thel'hen's self control to keep from vomiting at the sweet scent.

"It appears you still have a bit of spirit left in you! And so fond of Elven speech," Imshael smirked. "Do you know the meaning behind the name 'Suledin Keep', dear Inquisitor? _Suledin_ is a word in your native tongue, after all. It's more of a concept than a word, really; it means 'finding the strength to endure great pain or loss', or simply 'endure'." He stood up, the brand of Tranquility glowing brightly in his hand.

"Your friends are too late," he sneered. "I had wondered if you would _suledin,_ but it appears you did not. I don't know whether to be disappointed or impressed. Regardless, you've had a hard week. I think it's about time that you found some... tranquility, as it were. Perhaps you will be less troublesome then."


	3. Alike in Sorrow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Bull brings Thel'hen back to Skyhold, and Dorian discovers the truth in a terrible way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Canticle of Trials 1:08

"We forget the reasons others have to fear us, and that they are good ones. We see only the harsh restrictions placed upon us, and they seem very unfair indeed"

-Wynne, _Dragon Age: Asunder_

* * *

When The Iron Bull burst through the door he was too blinded by rage to notice that the Red Templars were already dead. It was the defining explosion that had led the three of them into the dungeons; they needed only to follow the trails of blood to find Thel'hen. The Bull roared, swinging his axe down into the newly dead corpse of a Red Templar as Cassandra's shouts resounded distantly in his ears.

" _bull... bull..._ BULL!" The final shout brought him back, his chest heaving as he panted. "They're dead, Bull!" Cassandra repeated. "They're already dead."

The Iron Bull's eyes swept the room frantically, searching for any sign of Thel'hen; what he found, however, sent him reeling. He dropped his axe and rushed towards the Inquisitor's crumpled figure, lying still in the center of a circle of dead Templars. Varric appeared in the doorway, huffing and reloading his crossbow. When he saw the Inquisitor, he halted in his tracks. 

"Shit," he whispered as he lowered Bianca. By now they had all seen it; the symbol of Tranquility pressed unforgivingly into his forehead. Cassandra was white as a sheet, frozen in place as she stared down at Thel'hen's mangled form. The Bull's heart felt as if it had stopped as he frantically checked Thel'hen for a pulse; he found one, weak but consistent, and choked back a relieved sob.

"He's alive," he said simply. He wrapped Thel'hen in his arms as tenderly as he could, cradling the unconscious elf against his chest as he stood on shaky legs.

" _Ebasit kata, Kadan_ ," he murmured softly. "It has ended. I'm going to take you home."

* * *

Dorian was nose-deep in a book when he heard the commotion, although calling it "a book" would be a severe disservice to the Inquisition agents who had managed to acquire it. In fact, the "book"—a rare manuscript on the _Magisters Sidereal_ , which had somehow evaded Tevinter's expulsion of all records of The Seven—had just arrived from Nevarra. It was fragmented, of course, but seeing as Nevarra was still a part of the Tevinter Imperium during the First Blight, the text seemed promising. Regardless of his excitement with this new lead, the sudden clamor in the library was too much for him to ignore. Pages were bustling through the rows of books, frantically grabbing volumes before rushing back down the spiral staircase. Dorian stopped one of them in curiosity.

"What's all this about?" he asked. "Sera had better not have recruited you all to help her with that bonfire idea of hers." The page, a short human woman in her mid-twenties with dark hair and even darker eyes, shook her head frantically.

"No, ser," she replied, a bit out of breath. "Cassandra ordered us to bring her these books, ser. Immediately, she said, ser."

The smile on Dorian's face dropped instantly. "Cassandra's back? Just her or the Inquisitor's whole party?" he asked.

"Dunno, ser. Please excuse me, ser," the page answered before continuing her descent down the stairs. Dorian frowned. Thel'hen always visited him as soon as he arrived back at Skyhold; they would sneak kisses between the bookshelves as Josephine desperately tried to find Thel'hen so that he could brief the war council on his most recent exploits. He had never once forgotten to stop by. Never.

Dorian rushed down the stairs, not even bothering to mark his spot in the Nevarran text as he raced after the page with the books. He followed her through Skyhold's main hall, past Josephine's desk, and into the hallway preceding the war room. Cullen stood in front of the door, quickly inspecting the books another page had given him before giving the poor soul another list of texts to collect. When he saw Dorian, he grew pale.

"Dorian—" he started, positioning himself between the mage and the door to the war room, but Dorian shoved past him and threw the doors open. Cullen followed, cursing quietly and quickly shutting the doors behind them. The noise of Dorian's entrance brought the eyes of the entire room onto them. Josephine experienced the same sudden loss of colouring that had afflicted Cullen mere moments before; Cassandra sat hunched over, her head hung defeatedly in her hands, and The Iron Bull was looking out the window with a similar despondent posture. Solas stopped speaking to Leliana mid-sentence as Dorian's eyes fell on Thel'hen. The war table, having been pushed up against one of the walls and covered in books, had been replaced with a chair in which the elf silently sat. Unlike the others, he hadn't turned when Dorian entered so loudly moments ago. 

"What in Andraste's name is going on here?" Dorian said bristly. No one spoke. Josephine cleared her throat in the uncomfortable silence.

"Perhaps... we should give you three a moment?" Josephine said as her eyes shot desperately to Cullen and Leliana for advice. The Iron Bull, with his back now towards the window and his arms crossed over his chest, said nothing.

"Give us a minute for what?" Dorian snapped. He tried to lock eyes with the Bull, but the qunari's gaze was cemented to the floor. 

"Dorian..." the Bull said, so softly that it was almost as if he had not spoken at all. Another silence fell over the room.

".... Well, what?!" Dorian asked, before turning to Thel'hen, who had still not turned around. "Thel'hen, what in the Veil is going on? Thel'hen?"

" _Dorian_ ," The Iron Bull tried again, but Dorian, in all his trademarked impatience, stormed around Thel'hen's chair to look the elf in the eyes and

froze.

It was as if his whole world collapsed all at once, as if in one instant his heart had stopped beating and all the air had rushed from his lungs.

He felt suddenly dizzy as a gut-wrenching sense of dread engulfed him. He couldn't move. He couldn't speak. He... he...

_Tranquil_ , he thought, the word bouncing around his mind which was suddenly empty of all other thought. _Tranquil. Thel'hen.... Tranquil... no, Maker, please, no no no_

"Dorian," the Bull attempted a third time, but before he could even finish his name the mage snapped. A bolt of fire thrown with the greatest amount of force Dorian could muster just barely missed The Iron Bull's head as he quickly ducked. The fear-induced paralysis that had entangled everyone before evaporated instantaneously. Josephine screamed, Solas reached for his staff, and Leliana dove at Dorian just as Dorian dove at the Bull. Luckily for all of them, Cullen got there first. He struck Dorian with a spell purge, which flatted Dorian to the ground with a loud boom. He wheezed, head spinning, all of the air suddenly knocked out of him; Cassandra and Cullen hauled him up and away from The Iron Bull as his vision swam. The Bull looked up, locking eyes with Dorian for the first time since he had arrived. _Sorrow. All he could see was sorrow._

"You—bastard," Dorian rasped between gasps of air. "You. BASTARD!" He tried to lunge at the Bull again, but even without Cullen's annulment of his magic Dorian would have stood no chance at overpowering the Templar and Seeker holding him back. He knew this. Yet he tried anyway. "YOU SAID YOU WOULD KEEP HIM SAFE!" Dorian screamed as The Iron Bull, still crouched on the floor, stared up at him in dismay. "YOU PROMISED! YOU PROMISED!"


	4. The Gods of Broken Promises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian tries to cope with Thel'hen's tranquility and falls back into old—and dangerous—habits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Canticle of Silence 3:15
> 
> Potential trigger warning: using alcohol to drown out feeeeeelings (please don't try this at home, folks)

"Sitting on my throne, I see every city in the empire. If I must burn one to save the rest, I will weep, but I will light the torch!"

-Empress Celene I, _Dragon Age: The Masked Empire_

* * *

Once, after their first night together, Thel'hen had told Dorian that he smelled of turmeric and sandalwood. Now, all Dorian smelled of was Fereldan beer. It was late, or rather early, or somewhere in between, but the time was of no consequence to Dorian. Nothing was of consequence anymore. He downed the rest of his ale with a few deep gulps before clumsy slamming the empty mug on the counter.

"Another," he said to Cabot as the candlelight emanating from a lamp on the countertop flickered from the impact. It had been nearly two weeks since Thel’hen (or, whatever remained of him) had returned to Skyhold. Dorian had spent the first week feverishly scouring the library for anything regarding the Rite of Tranquility; after his first week proved fruitless, he had decided to spend the second week drinking. There were rumors that a way to reverse the Rite had been discovered, rumors that many attributed to the rebellion in the White Spire and, eventually, the Mage-Templar War. But rumors were a poor substitute for consolation. At least with ale, Dorian could try to forget, if only for a moment.

_A bright smile and mischievous eyes, his confident voice daring Dorian to dream for more—_

  
Drink.

_Three bodies tangled in Orlesian sheets, the elf, the human, and the qunari together as a beaming sun rose through ornate windows—_

Drink.

  
_The sharp light of the Anchor flaring up in the night, Thel'hen crying out in pain as Dorian held him close, comforting him until the elf fell back to sleep —_

Drink.   
  


The loud creaking of the tavern’s door echoed in Dorian’s ears, but he did not offer so much as a glance behind him. _Why bother? There’s no point._  
  


“Dorian?” a hesitant Bull said as he slowly approached the disheveled mage. When Dorian didn’t answer, The Iron Bull felt as if a hand was clenched around his heart, slowly tightening its grip with every passing second. “ _Kadan_ , it’s been two weeks,” the Bull continued. “Please. Talk to me. Please, _Kadan_.”

"Iav.. I have nothing te say ter you," Dorian slurred, his usual precision in pronunciation now slow and sloppy. 

" _Kadan—_ " The Iron Bull started again, reaching his hand out to place it on Dorian's shoulder before quickly being cut-off.

 _ **"Doncallmethat!"**_ Dorian screamed as he whirled around, spilling beer across the top of the bar as he knocked the Bull's hand away. _**"I'um not 'your heart'! Not anymore!"**_

"Dorian, please, just _—_ " before The Iron Bull could even finish, the Tevinter had lunged at him. Dorian was too intoxicated to cast any spell, and he knew this to be true. Instead, the mage leapt at the qunari with clenched fists, slamming them into the Bull's body as hard as he could manage. The Iron Bull stumbled back in surprise, but didn't even do so much as to raise his arms to shield himself. Instead, he wrapped the screaming man in his grasp and held him tightly until the mage's knees buckled and they both sank to the floor. Dorian's whole body shook in the Bull's arms as his shouts of anger morphed into tears. He sobbed, openly and honestly, as The Iron Bull ran his hands through Dorian's hair and slowly rocked back and forth. 

"Come to bed, _Kadan._ You've barely slept in weeks," the Bull pleaded.

"I can't," Dorian wailed, hot tears steaming over his high cheekbones and onto the Bull's shoulder. "I can't be in that room no'more, not w' Thel'hen like... like... that! I just can't do it! He's... he's gone, but 'is body is still here, and I just can't bring myself te be near 'em!"

"I know," The Iron Bull said softly. "I... I've been sleeping in my old room, since everything happened. You don't have to go back to Thel'hen’s room. Shit, you don't have to come to my room if you don't want to. But you do need to sleep. Preferably in a bed, not under a pile of books or slumped over Cabot's counter." Dorian nodded weakly as he clung to The Iron Bull's sturdy form.

"Ok," he croaked after a long silence. "Let's go to bed."

* * *

_"I thought I might find you here," Dorian sighed as he closed the war room door softly behind him. He extinguished the flames dancing around his fingertips with a swift flick of his hand; the Inquisitor already had a lantern with him, which cast long shadows over the many figurines littering the war table. "Maker, Thel, it's almost 3am. Come back to bed. If not for you, at least for me; Bull's hogging all the blankets again and I don't have the heart to hit him with a lightning bolt like I did last time."_

_The elf shook his head. He had both hands on the table, which he was staring down at with a concentrated frown. His shoulders looked painfully tense and the bags under his eyes were beginning to become more and more difficult to hide from Josephine, who had recently gotten into the habit of scolding him for 'not taking care of himself'._

_"I can't sleep," he muttered, not lifting his eyes from the maps below him. "Too damn stressed. The Inquisition has done a lot, sure, but this—" he gestured to the image of Adamant Fortress, fortified deep within the Western Approach "—this.... shit, Dorian, this's just too much. I can't do it."_

_"Thel'hen, what are you talking about?" Dorian said in genuine surprise as he crossed the space between them in a few strong strides, pulling the elf away from the war table and into his arms. Thel'hen squeezed him tightly and buried his face into the fellow mage's chest. "You are the most incredible man I have ever known. You had no say in getting stuck with the Anchor, yet you choose to lead the Inquisition despite owing these people no allegiance. You agreed to help me and the mages of Redcliffe, even when abandoning us and seeking aid from the Templars would have been easier. You stood down an Archdemon at the Siege of Haven, for Andraste's sake!" Thel'hen muttered something incoherent into Dorian's chest_ _, but Dorian grabbed him by the shoulders and pushed them apart to look directly into Thel'hen's eyes. "Thel'hen. You are the light of my life. You are my entire world. I have not even the slightest sliver of doubt when I tell you that you can do this. Maker, the day that we find something you_ can't _do will be the day I start bathing as infrequently as Bull." Thel'hen chuckled slightly, a single tear sliding down his_ _cheek before his face grew hard again._

_"I need to go over Cullen's plan of attack again," he whispered, avoiding Dorian's gaze as he turned back to a pile of loosely-stacked combat strategy notes and sketches of Adamant Fortress' layout. Dorian sighed._

_"Well... at least let me help," he offered. Thel'hen snorted._

_"Since when are you so interested in battle strategy?"_

_"Never. Never have been, never will be. But I can do this," Dorian said, walking behind Thel'hen and placing both hands on the elf's shoulders. He began to knead his fingers into Thel'hen's neck and back as the elf let out a soft moan. "Now, read to me."_

_"We'll attack before dawn._ _Cullen's forces will begin the assault using trebuchets at the northern gate,_ _" Thel'hen recited as Dorian rubbed his shoulders. His head began to instinctively lean forward and Dorian started kissing his neck. "This will draw the warden's fire long enough to allow our men to get close to the walls... then... ah, yes, just like that... the soldiers in front will use ladders to get up and over the ramparts..." Thel'hen's voice trailed off._

 _"I didn't say you could stop,_ amatus _," Dorian teased. "Cullen will be rather upset if you don't have his plan all memorized." The Inquisitor did not respond. "...._ amatus? _" Dorian tried again, confusion written all across his face. The elf's head snapped upright and he began to turn around with a painstakingly slow speed._

_"You didn't save me, Dorian," Thel'hen whispered as he turned. "I waited for you in Suledin Keep. I told myself you would find me, that you would save me. But you didn't. You left me there to die." When the Inquisitor had fully turned to face him, Dorian saw the mark of Tranquility seared into his forehead as if burned there by fire instead of by magic. Staring at him, blank eyed and catatonic, Thel'hen's head tilted emotionlessly to one side._

_"No," Dorian choked, stumbling backwards as the elf started taking slow steps towards him. Thel'hen's voice started to change, becoming deep and demonic as his pupils enlarged, engulfing the rest of his eyes in blackness as blood began to run from his lower eyelid like tears._

_"You left me there to die, Dorian. I'm Tranquil and it's all your fault. You should have been there to save me." Dorian tripped, falling onto his back as Thel'hen grew even nearer. He tried to scramble away, but his limbs were frozen._

_"They hurt me, Dorian," the thing with Thel'hen's face said as blood started pouring out of his mouth and ears, blood which began to cover the floor with surprising speed. "They hurt me, Dorian, and it's all your fault. You didn't save me. You. Didn't. Save. Me._ "

_The blood was quickly rising around Dorian, but he still couldn't move; it began to fill his mouth, his nose, his eyes, he couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't, couldn't—_

_**"Dorian, wake up!"** _

His eyes snapped open and he flew upright, nearly head-butting The Iron Bull directly in the nose in the process. He was covered in a layer of cold sweat, and his breath was heavy and ragged.

" _Kadan_ , are you alright?" the Bull whispered. "You were screaming in your sleep. I woke you up as fast as I could." He sat there, trying to dispel the panic from his mind while he manufactured a few deep breaths as the qunari in bed next to him looked at him in concern.

"I'm... I'm fine," he finally managed. "I just... I just need some air." Before The Iron Bull could say a word, Dorian threw on a cloak and fled to walk the battlements once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I know it wasn't _actually_ an Archdemon, but Thel'hen/Dorian wouldn't know that at this point in the story so don't complain or I'll throw a shoe at you.


	5. Bitter is Sorrow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A tranquil Thel'hen interacts with some of his inner circle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Canticle of Andraste 1:02

“If I felt pain, it is meaningless to me now. Once I knew only fear, but now I know only service.... I believe it an acceptable trade"

-A Tranquil Mage, _Dragon Age: Asunder_

* * *

Thel'hen sat silently on his bed, staring vacantly at a vase of wildflowers on his desk. The flowers, with their white petals and deep red center, were only found in the Korcari Wilds; Dorian had gone to great lengths to procure them, preserving them with a complex charm that he claimed had taken years to master. The flowers meant something to Thel'hen, once. He couldn't remember why. The stairs leading up to Thel'hen's chambers groaned in protest as a large figure ascended the steps. The Iron Bull emerged and, upon seeing Thel'hen, froze in his tracks. They remained there for a moment, in silence not uncomfortable to Thel'hen but dreadfully painful to the Bull, before the qunari finally cleared his throat.

"Thel'hen... how are you feeling?" he asked, the distress in his voice seemingly unnoticed by Thel'hen. The elf, who had been absently looking into the Bull's eyes, blinked lethargically.

"I am content, The Iron Bull," Thel'hen replied, his voice cold yet not cruel. _The Iron Bull._ The words pierced deep into his chest, the emotionless rendition of his name cutting into his heart with an icy sting. _Vhenan_ , he thought. _That's what you call me. Vhenan._ "Grand Enchanter Fiona has done a wonderful job healing me. Her gifts are truly extraordinary." Thel'hen, seeing the Bull's change in expression, tilted his head slightly.

"Have I upset you, The Iron Bull?" Thel'hen inquired. His usual voice, which was once colorful and lively, was now monotone and emotionless. Although he had asked a question, neither his facial expression nor his body language changed in the slightest; it was if he had become an echo of himself that was somehow still reverberating throughout the world.

"No, _Ka—_ I mean, Inquisitor. You have not upset me," the Bull said softly. He couldn't bring himself to look into Thel'hen's hollow eyes, although he felt their absentminded gaze on his skin. Silence fell again between them as the Bull desperately tried to squash the stinging in his eyes and swallow the lump forming in his throat.

"Where is Lord Pavus?" Thel'hen questioned with an unnatural evenness to his voice. "I recall we used to spend time together, but I have not seen him as of late. I hope he is well."

"He's... he's been spending a lot of time in the library," The Iron Bull answered shakily. "He's been trying to find you a cure." Thel'hen continued to stare blank-faced at the Bull; the qunari knew that the Tranquil found no qualms with their tranquility, so he had expected his answer to puzzle Thel'hen. If it had, it did not show.

"A cure? Am I unwell?" Thel'hen said calmly. "I feel quite fine. Someone should inform him that such a search is unnecessary."

"I don't think he'd agree with you, _Ka—_ Inquisitor," the Bull said softly. For the first time since their flee from Suledin Keep, The Iron Bull was able to gather the courage to look the man he once knew in the eyes. The effect made him feel sick. Thel'hen was trying to think, to process what the Bull had said, but the gears desperately trying to turn in his mind were simply broken beyond repair. Some small part of him felt as if his head was underwater, muffling the world around him into a muted version of what it had once been. That feeling was swept away as quickly as it had arrived, and Thel'hen forgot the sensation immediately: the sensation that something was wrong.

"I... don't understand," Thel'hen said, although his voice did not reflect his confusion in the least. The Bull's throat tightened as he watched the man he once loved struggle to comprehend what had happened to him, knowing that Thel'hen simply could not cognize that how he was now was any different than how he had once been. The Iron Bull closed the space between them in one slow but deliberate stride, taking the elf's face in his hands lifting it up to meet his eyes.

"It's okay, _Kadan_ ," he whispered. His voice teetered on the edge of unsteadiness, but the Bull managed to keep it from quavering. "We'll find a way to fix this. I promise. I promise."

* * *

Thel'hen no longer dreamed. He did not realize he was supposed to until the First Enchanter of Montsimmard had mentioned it; she had, in fact, mentioned a dream of her own, however the comment stuck with him like a spiderling's web. They were sitting on her balcony, well away from prying eyes but still in a position allowing for the enjoyment of sunlight, which helped the ache in his body tremendously. Grand Enchanter Fiona did the best she could do, healing his cuts and broken bones, but she had told him that a full recovery would take time.

"Am I supposed to dream, Madame de Fer?" he asked as the enchantress besides him sipped her tea ceremoniously. She practically radiated in the afternoon light as she lounged decorously on the furniture she had brought with her from Orlais.

"Please, my dear, call me Vivienne. Although, if you insist on formalities, Lady Vivienne would also suffice," she chimed as Thel'hen stared idly into his own cup. The cool spring air blew strands of his hair into his face, but he did not mind; Vivienne, on the other hand, deigned not to notice. "And no, darling, I should not expect you to dream. Your mind has been cut off from the Fade, and as such you cannot do so."

"I see," Thel'hen said with a nod. "Thank you for your frankness. Many of our allies at Skyhold have appeared to struggle with my presence; you're the only one who treats me normally."

"Well, that does not surprise me in the least," Vivienne replied as she set down her saucer. "There were plenty of Tranquil at my Circle in Orlais; many of which I considered to be friends. I am, however, unvexed by the response of our associates. Cassandra and The Iron Bull no doubt feel responsible for your capture and subsequent Tranquility. Sera and Dorian are both highly-emotional creatures who despise change, especially that which they themselves cannot control. Both Blackwall and Solas are generally awkward individuals, whereas Varric witnessed firsthand the misuse of the Rite in Kirkwall, and Cole.... well, _it_ is a different story entirely. Many people manage their grief by altogether avoiding that which causes them pain. A rather primitive response, yet a predictable response nonetheless. Although, I did not expect Sera to start leaving burned bricks in the vague shape of cookies all around the castle grounds; it's been quite dreadful."

"I was unaware that I made them so distressed. I do not wish to incite any discomfort," Thel'hen said evenly.

"Of course you don't, my dear!" the First Enchanter assured. "They will come around, in time. They simply require an adequate adjustment period. Try to be patient with them."

Thel'hen nodded slowly. Although he noticed how all of Skyhold avoided his gaze, it did not upset him; rather, he was simply confused. He could not comprehend why Dorian had not visited him, or why Cassandra had suddenly started drinking fervently, or why everyone kept telling him that they were going to 'fix' him. He was not broken. He did not need to be 'fixed'.

He did not understand.


	6. What Has Been Forgotten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Iron Bull recalls his first kiss with Dorian, and Cassandra makes leeway on a cure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Canticle of Andraste 1:13
> 
> Potential trigger warning: drunk Dorian wants to make mistakes

"And the few things we keep become simple habits, the meaning long since faded. So it is with the _vhenadahl_ , the tree of the people.... Many cities have let theirs wither and die, then chopped them up for firewood"

-Sarethia, Hahren of the Highever Alienage, _Dragon Age: Origins_

* * *

_The Iron Bull remembered the first night Dorian kissed him with clarity that even Lake Luthias would envy. He had been cleaning under his fingernails with a steak knife when Dorian stormed into the Herald's Rest and fell onto one of Cabot's barstools with a despondent thump._

_"Ale," he said over the chatter of his fellow bar-patrons. It was early evening, just at the beginning of the tavern's busiest times of the day, which is why Dorian thought his presence may go unnoticed. He was wrong._

_"Now what's a guy like you doing in a place like this?" the Bull joked as he slid into a seat next to the mage. Dorian avoided his gaze as he threw back his mug, downing the drink in a few deep gulps. He motioned Cabot for another, which he proceeded to drain in a similarly concerning amount of time. When he gestured for a third, the Bull's playful attitude dropped. He knew that the 'vint and Thel'hen had gone on some sort of "personal errand" to Redcliffe earlier that day; apparently, it had not gone well._

_"Hey big guy, what's going on?" he asked with genuine sincerity in his voice. Dorian huffed but continued looking straight ahead._

_"Wouldn't you like to know?"_

_"Yes, actually. That's why I asked."_

_"What for? So you can make fun er me the next time we're out on a mission? To gain 'gossip-points' with Sera? To confirm yer own suspicions about how weak-willed and self-centered 'vints are?"_

_"No, because it's not even seven in the evening and you're drinking like a fish," the Bull responded earnestly. Dorian snorted, but said nothing else. "Listen, if you're going to get wasted, at least let me and the Chargers join you. Rocky and Stitches have been talking shit about who's alcohol tolerance is better for over a week now, and Krem said that if they didn't settle it by the weekend he may just kill them both. I honestly don't care who wins, I just know it's gonna be fun to watch."_ _Dorian pondered for a moment before sliding off his chair.  
_

_"Fine."_

_***_

_Dorian's mouth tasted of honey and desperation. The Iron Bull was normally the one pinning other people up against the wall, but he was willing to make an exception for the Tevinter mage who had pressed his back firmly into one of the tavern's dark corners. The smell of ale and the sounds of the Herald's Rest all blurred around him as he felt Dorian's mouth on his, longing, yearning, frantically kissing him as if he were as imperative as air itself. They had been drinking with the Chargers for a few hours, and although Rocky and Stitches were still going strong the rest of them were between the realms of slightly tipsy and completely wasted. The Iron Bull was in the realm of slightly tipsy, whereas Dorian... although his tolerance and obstinacy were impressive, he simply had no chance of keeping but with the Bull._

_The Iron Bull growled deep and carnal when Dorian's hands reached for his horns and he felt the mage's hip press demandingly into his; the Bull grabbed those hips, which were surprisingly muscular under the mage's robes, and felt Dorian moan into his neck. He distantly heard Dalish and Skinner arguing somewhere, but the only thing on his mind was the man on his body. Dorian's hands ran down his chest, causing the qunari to shiver with arousal while the Tevinter's fingers clumsily grabbed at the Bull's waistband._

_"Wait," the Bull said suddenly, separating their bodies with a gentle push._

_"Whaas wrong?" Dorian slurred, swaying momentarily as he staggered back._

_"You're drunk, that's what's wrong."_

_"I don care!"_

"Vashedan," _the Bull sighed, silently cursing himself for stopping. He wanted nothing more than to hoist Dorian up in his arms, to throw him onto his bed and conquer him like he had promised so many times before, but he knew he couldn't. Not like this. "You say that now big guy, but you may not say that later. I'm pretty open-minded, but I never,_ **ever** _want to take advantage of anyone. I'm all about consent, and a drunk man can't consent."_

 _"I thot... you wanted this," Dorian mumbled, hurt clearly swelling in his eyes._ Fuck _, Bull thought._ This is not how I wanted this to go.

 _"I do want this, Dorian. I want_ you _. But I don't know if_ _you want this, too. Like, if you_ really _want this._ _Drunk Dorian may want to ride the bull, but I don't want Sober Dorian to regret that_ _decision." Dorian looked crushed, and the Bull mentally kicked himself._ I'm gonna need Krem to hit me with a stick later. _"Listen, Dorian, I want you bad. So, so bad. But I don't want you to make a mistake. If we do this..._ when _we do this... I want it to be real."_

_"Iun... I understand," the mage said slowly, struggling with every syllable. He turned to leave, but the Bull grabbed his arm._

_"Wait, 'vint. Don't go passing out on the way to your room or, worse, stumbling into some stranger's bed. My room's just upstairs; why don't you just go sleep it off, ok? I'll take the floor."_

_Dorian nodded slowly and followed The Iron Bull up the ale-splattered stairs of the Herald's Rest. When the Bull woke the next morning, the 'vint was nowhere to be found. The following day when Thel'hen took him, Dorian, and Cole out on an expedition, The Iron Bull said nothing. That evening, a sober Dorian found his way into the qunari's tent; the next day, when Cole's eyes darted between the two men with a million questions and Thel'hen raised them each an inquisitive eyebrow, Dorian turned a delightful shade of red and refused to look at either of them while The Iron Bull simply said nothing... for as long as he could manage._

_"So, Dorian, about last night…”_

* * *

"I have a lead," Cassandra said frankly. She, the Inquisition's Advisors, Dorian, The Iron Bull, and the Inquisition's lead mages were all gathered around the War Table. They could all feel the tension hanging thickly in the air, but none of them said anything about it: after all, what was there to say?

"What kind of lead?" The Iron Bull inquired. Thel'hen had been tranquil for almost two months now; his body had mostly healed save for the deep scars on his back, but the Bull was trying not to become too optimistic. In his past experience, optimism only led to disappointment.

"There have been Seekers disappearing for months now. The Inquisitor was helping me track them before... the accident," Cassandra proceeded. "I continued my search in the Inquisitor's absence. Assuming my information is correct, the last known location of all of the missing Seekers is the same; Caer Oswin."

"Bann Loren's castle?" Cullen asked in surprise, his fingers fidgeting uncontrollably. The commander looked as if he had not slept in weeks, and the lyrium withdrawal surely was not helping. "He may be one of Fereldan's most pious nobles, but his capriciousness is practically legendary. Every well-informed Fereldan knows Bann Loren is notoriously fickle when it comes to allegiances; I can't imagine him being a part of something so clearly partisan."

"Perhaps he is unaware of the current use of his estate," Vivienne offered. "If I am not mistaken, he has not been frequently seen in public since losing his wife and only son when Are Rendon Howe attacked Castle Cousland just before the Fifth Blight." The rest of the room turned to look at her bewilderment and awe. "I'm not aware of only Orlesian politics!" she huffed. "One must know everything to play the Game."

"Regardless," Cassandra continued after a moment of silence, "if anyone would know a cure for Tranquility, it would be Lord Seeker Lucius; but, seeing as he wants nothing to do with our cause, our next best option would be the senior members of the Seekers of Truth. All of which have been last seen at Caer Oswin."

"Could a 'cure' for tranquility even work?" Dorian asked quietly. The mage, who was usually jaunty and ostentatious, had been so silent that most of the room had forgotten he was even there. "I wouldn't call myself an expert in Tranquility, but Thel'hen seems... different than the other Tranquil I've met, if that makes any sense."

"It does make sense," Grand Enchanter Fiona interjected, speaking for the first time since the meeting had begun. "The Anchor is causing Thel'hen's tranquility to be, if put simply, highly unusual. In my experience—First Enchanter Vivienne may correct me if she disagrees—the stronger a mage's connection to the Fade, the more intense their Tranquility becomes. Thel'hen's connection to the Fade is not just spiritual, but _physical_ as well; the Anchor acts as a gateway physically connecting him to both sides of the Veil. I am not surprised that he has lost memories with strong emotions attached to them, or that he is much more catatonic than other Tranquils. It would even explain the shock wave that killed the Red Templars around him when he was branded. But I do not know how he would react to having the Rite reversed, or if it would even work at all."

"Any chance is better than no chance," Leliana said. "If you wish to travel to Caer Oswin, Cassandra, I will send my spies ahead of you to assess the situation."

Cassandra nodded gratefully before turning to Dorian and The Iron Bull. "What say you?" she asked. Dorian shrugged dejectedly, but The Iron Bull straightened with an expression of stone.

"I say we've got a fortress to clear."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To all those currently following this story:
> 
> Thank you all so much for your kudos/comments/bookmarks! Your feedback means the world to me, and I am so happy to be sharing this story with you. I hope everyone is staying safe during quarantine. Happy reading!
> 
> -Piaculum


	7. The Secrets of Darkest Magic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassandra, Cole, Dorian, and The Iron Bull search Caer Oswin for the Seekers of Truth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Canticle of Threnodies 5:11

"He'd been terrified of being swallowed up by the darkness for so long it seemed like it would be a relief to get it over with. You were only scared of becoming nothing until you were nothing"

- _Dragon Age: Asunder_

* * *

Indeed, it was a fortress. The sun was just starting to appear over the crests of the surrounding mountaintops, cascading a warm glow onto the mist pooling in the valleys below them. Although they were not high enough for snow, especially not at this time of year, there were cold droplets of morning dew clinging to the branches of the evergreens. Caer Oswin was undoubtedly beautiful, but something in the air had Cassandra, Dorian, The Iron Bull, and Cole all feeling uneasy.

"Stomach full of mantras, she burns like a beacon, Faith a flame to bring succor for a Seeker," Cole rambled as they stared at the impending walls of Bann Loren's castle.

"Not now, kid," the Bull hushed gently. The passing winds brought a chill in the air despite the sun beaming down on them, but Cole, as per usual, seemed unbothered.

"This is a bad place. Secrets turning, twisting, hurting, harming, hacking open a hole for the demons to pour in. But they keep coming back, searching, seeking, silenced."

"Seriously, Cole, not now."

"Caer Oswin. Odd that the trail should leave us here," Cassandra said absentmindedly. Dorian got the feeling she was speaking to herself more than to them. "Bann Loren is a pious, unassuming man. What has he become involved in?"

"Perhaps he is a victim in all this as well?" Dorian offered, although he sounded unconvinced.

"Let's see what lies within."

They did not have to wait long. Cassandra guided them up the path to an unassuming wooden door that led into one of the fortress' lower levels. It swung open surprisingly silently, which turned out to be to their advantage; guarding the wall, with his back towards them, was a man in full-plate Templar armor. Cassandra bellowed a war cry and charged, taking the man by surprise as she knocked him back. The stone hallway was far too narrow to allow for The Iron Bull to advance next to Cassandra and flank him, but Cole vanished from behind Dorian and appeared in front of the man, slicing his throat with a quick movement. Blood spurted onto Cole's hands and face before he managed to dart further into the chamber. The man gurgled in a pool of his own blood as Cassandra and The Iron Bull proceeded forward, leaving Dorian to gingerly leap over the dark puddle as he complained under his breath something about his shoes being 'too expensive to stain'. They moved swiftly into the next room, which was lined with sacks of grain and bushels of straw made visible only by the warm light of torches secured to stone support beams. Three more warriors, all in Templar armor, saw them as they entered. The first charged at Cassandra, his sword high in the air as he prepared to strike, but the Seeker easily parried his blow with her shield before striking him with a forceful counterattack. The other two rushed at the Bull, but Dorian raised his staff and hit them with a horror spell before they reached the qunari. The effect was instantaneous; they began to cower in infallible dread, screaming in fear as purple light surrounded them and began seeping through the gaps in their armor. The Iron Bull and Dorian had been fighting alongside one another long enough to have mastered this strategy beautifully, and today was no exception. The Bull roared, causing the unfortunate men before him to panic even further before he swung his axe powerfully through the air, embedding his blade into the side of the nearest attacker. Somewhere in the corner of his eye, Dorian thought he saw Cole darting around the third man. He was about to send additional spells in Cole's direction, but decided to withhold his mana when he saw the man crumble beneath Cole's daggers. Cassandra finished her attacker with similar speed, pulling her sword out of the man's corpse with a disgusted huff.

"Promisers. I should have known."

"I'm sorry, what?" Dorian asked as he lowered his staff, exchanging confused looks with the Bull as the qunari tried to wrench his axe out of the second man's side.

"The Order of the Fire Promise," Cassandra explained, "is a cult with... strange beliefs about Seekers. They've hounded us for centuries."

"What kind of strange beliefs?" The Iron Bull asked, finally managing to dislodge his axe from the Promiser beneath him.

"They believe _they_ are Seekers, the only rightful ones. They say we robbed their powers long ago, preventing them from ending the world."

"Ah yes, how inconsiderate," Dorian jibbed.

"They believed that the end of the world was necessary, the only way to truly eradicate evil, in their eyes. 'Thedas must be cleansed with fire, and the world will be reborn a paradise'. It's all nonsense."

"Fuckin' cultists," the Bull muttered. "Why is it always fuckin' cultists?"

"This explains why the Seekers might be here, but not the connection to Corypheus," Cassandra continued as she began searching the bodies. She pulled a key triumphantly from one of the corpses with a lackluster "ah-ha!" before moving to unlock the next door. They continued on.

The party did not have to continue for long until they found him. They had proceeded down a short flight of stairs that led into a large hallway with a red carpet running down the middle; as they approached the end of the corridor they saw him, lying face-up in full armor. There was dried blood along his temple and beneath his head.

"A Seeker," Cassandra said solely as she looked down at him. His eyes were long glazed over, and his face and hands had an almost waxy-sheen. "Did they torture him to death? The Promisers will pay for this." 

"He wasn't red inside," Cole said suddenly, drawing their eyes towards him as he knelt by the Seeker's stiff body. Cole was still covered in blood, decorating his face and hands in a deep shade of crimson, although he did not seem to care.

"He seemed to be pretty red inside to me," Dorian said with a casual motion at the blood-stained floor. Cole shook his head.

"No, not like that. The song never sang for him. He was lucky."

"Alright, I'm officially confused," Dorian said. "Cassandra? Bull? Any help here?"

Cole seemed to be deep in thought, as if struggling to find the right words. "It is different, darker, daggers under the skin. It eats you inside until you're nothing. They hear a different song, the song behind the door old whispers want opened. Most sounded the same, but the leaders they listened to were hurt, hollowed, sick with a _new_ song. They swallowed lies until they sang with darker music. The sound hollowed them."

"Ok, that really does not help."

"... I'm sorry." 

They continued on, out through the door by the Seeker's body and into a courtyard. The morning mist collected on the grass, causing a light cloud of fog to consolidate around their ankles as the high walls of the fortress blocked the sun from shining down onto them. There were more Promisers patrolling area, but now that the group knew what they were up against they were able to quickly neutralize the cultists. Cassandra bent down to the one who had put up the most fight—from the way they protected him, this one must have been their leader—and drew a letter from his armor. Her eyes darted over it rapidly before she began to read:

"'As the Seekers of Truth have proven resistant to the effects of red lyrium, the Elder One has seen fit to place them in your care. Reclaim your destiny, and know that the Elder One expects your devotion as repayment.' Signed by Lord Samson, commander of the Red Templars."

"The song never sang for them," Cole repeated softly. "He couldn't make them red inside, so he made their red go outside."

"I... understand. Corypheus could not use red lyrium to corrupt the Seekers, so he had them killed instead," Cassandra said as she lowered the letter. "But that does not explain why Corypheus is using the Promisers. Does he not realize that the Promisers want the world to end? What use are they to him?"

"He'll undoubtedly kill them before they get the chance," Dorian said. 

"But this doesn't explain how he captured the Seekers in the first place, or what's been done with them!"

"Then let's keep going," The Iron Bull rumbled, clearly growing impatient. And so they did, progressing through Caer Oswin with the speed and efficiency of a well-oiled machine. When the Inquisition first became official, Thel'hen had insisted that his inner circle train with one another relentlessly so that they would understand the fighting styles, strengths, and weaknesses of their companions. Dorian had never been so grateful for what he once considered futile exercise; now, he was thankful that at least something of Thel'hen remained with them.

They ascended a long stone staircase out of the courtyard and through a tawny wooden door, which opened into a large, dimly-lit chamber with a high arching ceiling and jagged walls that suggested the room was carved directly—and crudely—out of the mountain. At the far end of the room stood a beautifully decorated Fereldan throne, behind which appeared a large portrait of a Templar. Judging by the room's size, architecture, and furnishments, the chamber likely would have served as the fortress' great hall in better times. Cassandra could easily imagine it: guests eating and drinking merely around the tables located behind the support pillars on both sides of the hall, minstrels playing a lively jig above drunken laughter, Bann Loren sitting on his makeshift throne as he watched the dancers twirling on the floor between the sets of pillars, nervous young squires daring to ask blushing maidens for a dance. Now, the hall stood empty and lifeless. Upon closer inspection, the templar in the portrait looked surprising like Cassandra; Dorian seemed to be the only one who noticed—although the artistry appeared amateur and the resemblance was doubtlessly unintentional—and as such was the only one distracted when four Promisers emerged from the alcove on the far right. The snap of a bowstring releasing brought his attention back to his surroundings, but it was too late. An arrow embedded deep into his right shoulder, lodging itself just beneath his clavicle and piercing his deltopectoral groove. He staggered back, his staff clattering to the ground as The Iron Bull bellowed in rage.

"Dorian!" the Bull cried as he rushed towards the mage, his voice a strange combination of fury and fear.

"I'm fine!" Dorian lied as he promptly pressed his hand around the arrow's shaft in a frantic attempt to stop the bleeding. "Just go kill those bastards, would you?" The Iron Bull gave him a worried glance but, upon seeing the stubborn flare in the mage's eyes, decided it was best to do as he was told. He felt a hatred building inside him, something primal and uncontrollable boiling in his veins as his vision tunneled and an insatiable anger overtook him. He rushed forward, axe in hand, swinging wildly as a thunderous roar erupted from his chest. Perhaps the Promisers fought back, perhaps they did not; The Iron Bull would not have noticed either way. One dropped, but whether or not he was alive or dead was of no consequence. The Bull crushed the man underfoot, his breastplate and bones shattering with a sickening crunch. Another met the Bull's axe, which sliced vertically through the man's head and buried itself in his collarbone. Not willing to take the time to retrieve his axe, he grabbed a third with his bare hands and ripped the man's arm completely off his body, sending blood showering around them. All he could see was red, all he could feel was anger, they had hurt his _kadan_ , _**HIS**_ _kadan_ , and he was going to tear the hearts out of every single one of them. He pinned another against a pillar, punching him in the head, the gut, the chest, punching him again and again and— _ama—_ he could feel the man's bones crushing beneath his fists, feel the blood splattering his face— _amat—_ he was screaming, expelling his fury through his voice as he pummeled the man with his fists— _amatu_ —nothing else mattered, he just had to kill them, just had to—

 ** _"_ _Amatus, STOP!"_ **Dorian screamed, attempting to pull the qunari back with his one good arm. The Iron Bull whirled, his next punch flying towards Dorian will all the strength and speed of his prior blows. It was the fear in Dorian's eyes that snapped him out of it; his fist stopped mid-air as Dorian leapt backwards in alarm, swearing as the move jostled his shoulder and blood started to flow from beneath his collarbone once more.

" _Fasta vass,_ Bull! _You could have killed me!"_

The Iron Bull blinked slowly, the anger faded from his mind as he took a few shaky breaths. He saw Dorian's face, filled with terror and betrayal, and reached a hand out to wipe the blood splatter off of it; Dorian stepped back.

 _"What were you thinking, you BLOODY IDIOT?!"_ he continued screaming, face turning red. _"YOU NEARLY TOOK MY HEAD CLEAN OFF!"_

"I'm... I'm sorry!" the Bull stammered. "I don't know what came over me, I—"

" _Vishante kaffas!_ I don't care about your excuses, if you can't control yourself then _GET OUT!"_

The Iron Bull looked helplessly at Cassandra, hoping for some sort of positive intervention. The Seeker stood awkwardly between them, eyes darted from the fuming Tevinter and the qunari who, suddenly, seemed quite small.

"Perhaps Dorian is right," she hesitantly said, avoiding The Iron Bull's shocked gaze. "I understand you are... under a lot of stress, but we cannot risk you losing control."

"I won't lose control," Bull promised. "I'm sorry, I just... Cassandra, _please,_ I...." He fumbled for words, not knowing what to say to make things better. Unfortunately, there was nothing he could say.  
  


"Go back to Skyhold, Bull," she commanded. "We will finish this without you."


	8. The Light in the Shadows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flashback to the Siege of Haven's aftermath; in present time, Dorian and The Iron Bull talk about what happened in Caer Oswin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Canticle of Benedictions 4:11

"[She] is so bent over her work she has forgotten how to look up. Everyone she knows has forgotten, too. The stars are there, but she doesn’t remember why they are worth looking at"

- _Dragon Age Short Story: Paying the Ferryman_

* * *

Well.... at least my death will make for a good story. Varric should be pleased, _Thel'hen had thought as he plummeted, his body spiraling uncontrollably in free-fall._

_They had not been expecting the assault, which is why they were caught so laughably off-guard when Corypheus' forces marched on Haven. One moment he was standing with Cassandra in front of the Chantry, watching Inquisition troops merrily celebrating the closure of the Breach; the next moment Cullen was sprinting towards the gates, bells were ringing, people were screaming, and then—he could not remember what had happened then._

_Waking up was abhorrent to say the least, and took more attempts than Thel'hen wanted to admit before he was able to master remaining conscious. Every bone in his body felt as if it had been trampled by a raging bronto and his head was screaming. He tentatively touched his temple, just above his left eyebrow where the pain was most extreme, and drew back a trembling hand to reveal fingers coated in dark red. Every inhale hurt, every unsteady breath set his ribcage afire. His vision was swimming; every time he opened his eyes an unbearable nausea overtook him. Even with his eyes closed, it felt as if the whole world was spinning rapidly around him. He did not know where he was or how he had gotten there; all he knew was that he was somewhere dark, cold, and all alone._

_Thel'hen had not realized that he had passed out again until he woke up._ _He was able to wiggle his toes and the fingers in his left hand, but every attempt to move his right arm resulted in searing agony. Slowly, as his mana repleted and he managed to work small amounts of healing magic into his limbs, the events before the fall came back to him in disjointed fragments; the glow of warm bonfires, singing, dancing, drinking, laughing, then the thunderous booming of explosions, people screaming, figures glowing red.... a.... dragon?....... His vision was fuzzy, and black spots were swirling in and out of sight as he desperately tried to piece together what had happened._

 _The next time he woke was when he felt small teeth nibbling at his fingers. He stirred abruptly, sharply drawing in a pained breath that was, upon exhaling, made visible on account of the cold. The rat—rats?—around him scurried away with frantic squeaking as he coughed. His mouth tasted like blood, and his limbs were painfully stiff. Someone was yelling in the distance. Or at least, he thought someone was; perhaps it was only the ringing in his ears._ I have to get out of here. _It took an embarrassingly long time for him to stand, Thel'hen having to pause multiple times in order to avoid blacking out on his way up, but eventually he managed to straighten himself against the frozen cavern walls. He was shivering uncontrollably in the dark, his right arm hanging loosely at his side as he shuffled forward. He tried to stand on both legs, but the pain in his left ankle almost sent him toppling to the ground again. His staff and potion-belt were nowhere to be found. And thus he hobbled onward, leaning heavily along the ice-laden cave walls as he passed through stone tunnels and over timeworn wooden structures._ I must be in the cave system beneath Haven _, he thought wearily._ There's got to be a way out.

 _There was indeed a way out. Unfortunately for the Inquisitor, that way also happened to be blocked by a group of despair demons; the fact that they were_ despair _demons, Thel'hen later reflected, was deplorably cruel on the Veil's part. Thel'hen would normally have had no trouble casting without his staff, but he had used the majority of his mana to mend his torn muscles and shattered bones. He was certain that this was it, that this was the end, when a searing pain shot through his left arm and a green flash burst from his hand. The Anchor sent a sphere of emerald light erupting above his head, pulling the demons back into the Fade as Thel'hen fell to his knees; the blast had undoubtedly saved his life, but it_ hurt _like nothing he had ever experienced before._ Just a little further, _he told himself as he stood on shaking legs._ Just a little further.

 _'A little further' proved to be an understatement. The wind howled over him as he exited the cave, biting unforgivingly at his exposed skin as he limped through knee-high snow. The blizzard whirling around him made it impossible to see past his own nose._ I'd suck Fen'Harel's big toe to be warm, _he mused. He was exhausted. His joints were stiff, his bones were frigid, and every breath burned in his lungs. He had not realized that he had fallen until he felt his face hit the snow-covered ground. He tried to stand, to keep his eyes open, but his limbs were too listless and his eyelids were too heavy._ Perhaps I should rest.... just for a minute....

_* * * *_

"I found him!"

" _Fasta vass_ , is he breathing?"

"Shit, he's not moving, shit shit shit"

"Sweet Maker, he's frozen solid"

_Languidly, Thel'hen's eyes opened. Two identical bronze faces with identical expressions were kneeling over him, floating aimlessly in his vision until they merged into one very concerned face._

_"Thel—Inquisitor, can you hear me?" Dorian asked. If Thel'hen were any more conscious, he may have noticed the panic in the mage's voice; but he did not. "Please, by the Maker, please stay with me!"_

_"We've got to get him out of the storm," The Iron Bull shouted over the whistling wind._ "Vashedan _, he needs a healer."_

I am a healer.

_The Iron Bull lifted the quivering Inquisitor out of the snow and into his arms. The qunari was radiating heat that rivaled Harritt's smithy and Thel'hen curled up against him, nuzzling his head under the Bull's chin with a soft whimper. The Bull's breath caught in his throat and he felt his heart skip a beat, but the elf did not seem to notice._

_"We got ya, boss," the Bull managed, his voice causing his chest to rumble against Thel'hen's shivering form._

_"This way!" the elf thought he heard Dorian yell through the gale. "There's a cave up ahead!" The Iron Bull trudged forward with the Inquisitor wrapped in his arms. His mind was racing faster than the snowstorm, but he followed the 'vint without hesitation. The 'cave' was less of a cave and more of a depression in the mountainside, but it blocked the winds and snow nonetheless. Thel'hen was having trouble staying focused and everything seemed to be happening in a blur. He saw a small flicker of light that Dorian told him to follow with his eyes, for some reason, but the one flame quickly became six and then two and then four and then Thel'hen became nauseous all over again._

_"S'too bright," he complained as he tucked his head back into the warmth of The Iron Bull._

_"Hey, boss, that's good! Words are good.... right?" Dorian gave a dramatically exasperated huff._

_"Do you remember your name? What year is it? Do you know who we are?"_

_Thel'hen turned his head to squint at the Tevinter mage who was asking him so many frivolous questions. It took all of his effort but slowly, very slowly, he raised his hand up to Dorian's face and placed a trembling finger on his nose._

"Boop." 

_"Did he just... 'boop' me?"_

_"He just booped you," the Bull chuckled as Dorian stood fixed to the ground in a peculiar mixture of confusion and concern._

_"He's delirious! He must have hit his head in the avalanche, we need to get him to—"_

_"You're preeeetty," Thel'hen interrupted as he poked Dorian's face again, his words slow and sloppy. If it had not been for Dorian's temporomandibular joint, his jaw most certainly would have dropped to the floor. "And you're pretty," Thel'hen continued as he turned to poke the Bull. Dorian's face turned a brilliant shade of red and the Bull, who was still holding Thel'hen in his arms, through his heart might just burst right out of his chest. Thel'hen looked between the dumbfound faces of the qunari and the human, the two men who, for some unknown reason, made his heart race every time he thought of them. He had been enthralled by Dorian ever since that fateful day in Redcliffe's Chantry, and he had been similarly infatuated with The Iron Bull from the moment he saw the qunari tearing through Tevinter Zealots on the shores of the Storm Coast. Seeing their flustered looks, the rather lightheaded elf giggled._

_"We should have avalanches more often."_

* * *

The salve hurt more than usual. The Iron Bull involuntarily winced as Dorian carelessly spread the green healing poultice over the welts on his chest. They sat in silence, the smell of freshly ground elfroot wafting from the salve and enveloping them in an aromatic yet oddly piquant scent.

"I understand that you're upset, but making Krem beat you with a stick until the poor man's arms nearly fall off is not a healthy solution," Dorian complained as he worked, although The Iron Bull avoided his eyes. The Bull normally had no reservations regarding others seeing his wounds; seeing the injury he could endure often inspired fear in his foes and admiration in his allies. But that frown Dorian had, that crease in his brow when he had to patch the qunari up, that look always made the Bull feel... guilty. With Thel'hen, the guilt was lessened; the elf was used to the horrors of battle and effortlessly masked his feelings—be it fear, disgust, or frustration—under a healer's amicable guise. Dorian's face, on the other hand, was like an open book that the Bull did not even have to read. He could feel the indignation emanating off the Tevinter mage as he worked, and whether it was intended to or not (for the Bull honestly was not sure), it made him feel so incredibly _guilty_. Guilt was a feeling he was not used to, and one that he quickly learned he did not enjoy. Thus, he started to become more careful on the battlefield, finding that all three of them were better for it. 

"I forgive you," Dorian said gently as he applied more of the poultice to the Bull's chest. The qunari winced, although if from the stinging of the salve or the stinging of the words, he was not sure.

"You shouldn't," the Bull murmured, so softly that at first he thought Dorian had not heard him. A part of him _hoped_ Dorian had not heard him; but he had.

"I would hope that you know me well enough to know that I don't appreciate being told what I should and shouldn't do."

"I lost control. I could have hurt you. I almost _did_ hurt you. I should have known that I was too fucked up for this. I should have known better than to... than to..."

"Than to do what?" Dorian snapped. "Be my boyfriend?" The Iron Bull flinched at the word and Dorian immediately regretted his snap of anger. They had not even settled on a word for what was going on between them and the Inquisitor; and now, Dorian had called the Bull his boyfriend for the first time. _And it was in anger._ Dorian mentally kicked himself and set the poultice down on his desk before moving to stare out the window, his back to the qunari whose head was hanging low and whose hands were trembling. There was another moment, another long, agonizing moment, before either of them spoke again.

"When... when you started your shameless attempts at flirting, I thought all you wanted was to gain intel for the Qunari or just to have a quick fuck," Dorian started, still gazing down onto Skyhold's courtyard. "When one 'quick fuck' turned into two, and then into four, I told myself that it was only physical. But you showed me affection publicly, which was more than I could have ever dreamed of in Tevinter, and by the Maker, I just wanted so badly to be _wanted_ that I went along with it. I kept telling myself that it was just physical, to not get my hopes up." The mage turned to face the Bull but kept his eyes lowered to the ground, crossing his arms against his chest as he leaned back against the window frame.

"It was Cole, actually, who made me find out. We were out in the Hinterlands, you, me, Thel'hen, and Cole. It was my watch, and you were sleeping outside your tent. 'The stars remind me of home,' you said. So you slept under the stars, and I stood watch, and Cole started... _reading_ you. Nearly scared me so badly that I set the camp on fire; I had to talk with him after that about not sneaking up on me, although it hasn't done much good." The Bull smirked at that besides himself, but Dorian did not seem to notice. "I'll never forget what he said. 'Longing, loving, but lacking faith. 'Noble hands would never want to hold a liar's heart', not knowing the only lie is the one he sells himself'. That's when I knew. When I knew you wanted... more. And I was terrified." The Bull looked up, but Dorian's eyes were still glued to the floor and his arms still held his chest, as if trying to protect himself from, well, himself.

"I was terrified. Absolutely terrified. Back home, in Minrathous, love was... conditional. 'Don't swear so much, Dorian. Don't think so much, Dorian. Don't want so much, Dorian,'" he continued, punching emphasis into his name each time it was said, as if the very word itself was a curse. "Any affection I found in Tevinter was because somebody wanted something from me; money, influence, power... to be able to go to their friends and say, 'guess who just fucked the Magister's son?' And my parents... my parents' affection was entirely contingent on how satisfactory of a son I was. They had my life all planned out, moulding me from birth to fill my father's seat in the Magisterium. When I turned out to be less malleable than anticipated, things went downhill. 'Stop being so problematic, Dorian. Why are you so ungrateful, Dorian? Just marry Livia and buy a sex-slave like the rest of us, Dorian.' _All of my life_ emotional attachments came with a price. There was always some other motive, some end goal that must be met. So when I realized that you didn't want any of that, that you just wanted me for _me_ , I couldn't handle it. I thought about leaving, and I nearly did. I couldn't comprehend that your admiration was sincere. I couldn't comprehend that I could ever deserve it. I couldn't comprehend that I did not have to earn your love, but that you were willing to give it to me freely. And that was _terrifying_."

There was another moment of silence, and Dorian shifted uncomfortably. The Iron Bull had never seen Dorian be so honest— _especially_ not while sober—and he was afraid that if he said anything he would mess things up all over again. So he sat there, listening patiently as the mage laid his soul bare.

"Then... Thel'hen happened," Dorian began again. "And suddenly, there were two men who wanted to take nothing _from_ me, but wanted to give everything _to_ me. I thought it was some trick, some sick prank of Sera's invention to knock the 'arrogant Tevinter' down a few pegs. I was afraid that if I abandoned my fears, that if I let myself go that no one would be there to catch me. But I risked it, because despite how damn terrified I was, I _so_ _desperately_ wanted to be loved. And Void damn it, I don't know why but you caught me. So I understand, Bull, why you lost your head—metaphorically, as opposed to me who almost lost his literally—at Caer Oswin. Thel'hen's been taken from us. His body is still here, but his mind is gone and that is somehow even worse. But if I thought I was going to lose you too, if I thought I was going to lose the only other man that I have ever truly loved... I think I would react unfavorably as well. And as much as I want Thel'hen back, as much as I _need_ Thel'hen back, I am not willing to loosing you in the process." He looked up then, his gray eyes meeting the Bull's with a somber intensity that words could not describe. And the Bull felt _guilty_. 

_If I have to lose myself to save Thel'hen, that is a trade I will happily make_ , Bull thought to himself. But he said nothing. A loud knock at the door made them both jump as the voice of a certain Denerim-raised elf rang from under the door.

"Oi, shit-for-brains, stop moping or making out or whatever it is you're doing in there and come down to the war room. The Seeker's got her breeches in a bunch about something. Dunno what, really, but whatever it is, it's gonna be good."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some context for those wondering about Cole's mind-reading dialogue, "Noble hands would never want to hold liar's heart": 'altus' in Latin can be be translated to mean 'noble' (among a lot of other things), and hissrad (which is Bull's title within the Qun) means 'liar'.


	9. Not Alone Do We Stand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The inner circle discusses reversing Thel'hen's tranquility and what it might cost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Canticle of Apotheosis 1:08

“It’s a terrible thing, to live as part of someone else’s story”

-Varric, _Dragon Age: Until We Sleep_ Vol. 3

* * *

"I have read the former Lord Seeker Lucius' _Book of Secrets_. I knew of its existence prior to this, but I never imagined I would ever lay eyes on it; this tome has been passed down from Lord Seeker to Lord Seeker since the time of the Old Inquisition, kept out of sight of all others so that only one living person in the entirety of Thedas had read it at a time. No Divine has ever seen it, nor Knight-Commander, nor First Enchanter, nor otherly scholar. It is, without a doubt, the most secretive text in all of Thedas. I now understand why." Cassandra had gathered the Inquisitor's advisors, his inner circle, and Fiona into the war room where they all stood around the war table in a tense silence. From where it lay atop the large map of Thedas, the _Book of Secrets_ seemed as ordinary as any other old text. The thick tome was bound in faded, timeworn leather with the Watchful Eye—the insignia of the Seekers of Truth—carved into the cover with a steady hand.

"I was taught that when a mage is made tranquil their spirit ascends beyond the Fade to rest at the Maker's side, and thus I brushed off the rumors of a cure for Tranquility as just that; rumors," Cassandra continued, fidgeting uncomfortably. It was so painfully obvious to all those in attendance that she was choosing her words carefully that even Cullen noticed her deliberation. "I believed what my superiors told me, that the spirits of Tranquil mages reside outside of both the Waking World and the Fade, thus causing Tranquility to be permanent. I.... I was...."

"It's ok to admit that you were wrong, Seeker" Varric quipped. Cassandra glowered but gave an exasperated sigh. 

"I was wrong." If she had been paying more attention, she may have noticed Varric's grin as under the war table Sera begrudgingly palmed a few gold coins into his hand.

"Never bet against a dwarf, Buttercup," he whispered to her as Sera muttered something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like "stupid arse fuckin' bitch-balls".

"So, if you were wrong," Fiona began slowly, "are you saying that Tranquility can be reversed? That the rumors coming out of the White Spire were _true_?"

"..... yes."

The room erupted into chaos. "Surely you must be mistaken," Vivienne said, but her voice was drowned out by Blackwall's outraged cries for an explanation as to why the Seekers would keep such a secret. Solas appeared to be lost deep in thought as if this new discovery blew thousands of holes in his theories about the Veil, and Cullen, who was leaning against the wall for support, had a nauseating pallor to his face. Bull was demanding that they perform the reversal ritual that instant, while Dorian asked a million questions and Sera screamed something about how the Fade could 'suck her dick'.

"Enough," Cassandra yelled over the mob of voices. **_"ENOUGH!"_** Silence fell over them as quickly as that of a child being scolded by their mother. "Yes, it is possible to reverse Tranquility. But it is not easy. It requires preparation, rituals, and... a spirit." 

"What do you mean, 'a spirit'?" Dorian asked after a brief silence.

"It is not easy to explain. Thel'hen's soul has not passed beyond the Fade, but is rather... stuck _in_ the Fade, existing in a form largely undetectable by other spirits. In order for his essence to be released, a spirit would have to reach across the Veil and connect with his mind, essentially guiding his soul from the Fade back into his body in the Waking World—"

"We have a spirit," The Iron Bull interrupted as he pointed to Cole, who had been playing with various figurines on the war map as if they were toy soldiers. When he noticed every eye in the room was trained on him he looked up and slowly set the pieces back where he had found them, clearly thinking he was about to be scolded for not paying attention.

"Yes, Cole is spirit- _like_ , but it is not as simple as you might think," Solas interjected. "As the Lady Seeker said, tranquil souls are invisible to other spirits in the Fade. And, on top of all that, Cole is much less of a spirit now than he used to be. If he had been allowed to return to his natural form as I had suggested, perhaps the situation may have been different," the elf continued with a haughty glance at Varric. "Cole is still connected to the Fade in a truly unique way, but I am not sure that he will be able to complete such a task. Besides, the rituals alone that would allow a spirit to even _see_ Thel'hen would take tremendous amounts of power, much less bring him back across the Veil. In theory, it can be done, but in reality? I am not sure."

"Besides," Cassandra added, "there are incredible risks. The _Book of Secrets_ warns of extreme emotional instability in formerly Tranquil mages. Even if we are successful, the Inquisitor we gain may be very different from the Inquisitor we lost."

"With all due respect, Cassandra, _fuck_ the risks," Dorian interjected as he grabbed the Bull's hand under the table. "It's going to work. We're going to get him back."

"And how, pray tell, do you plan to do that?" Solas asked.

 _Shit_ , Varric thought as he sighed loudly before rubbing his temples and looking up. "I think I might know a guy."

When the meeting adjourned, Cullen was the first to leave. He took the instructions Cassandra had given him for the ritual's preparation and fled the chamber, his mind a foggy haze as he stumbled back to his office. He managed, although just barely, to reach his chambers and slam the door shut before rushing to the window and vomiting over the ledge. He threw up his lunch, then whatever remained in his stomach, and then nothing but bile until finally he slid to the floor. His whole body was shaking, and the chills from his lyrium withdrawal felt infinitely worse than usual. A soft knock at the door made him groan with irritation; no doubt some rookie soldier had questions for him, or some scout had reports that needed reviewing, or one of Josephine's runners had documents he needed to sign.

"Not now, recruit," he bemoaned as he closed his eyes and let his head fall back to rest against the stone wall.

"It's just me, Curly," a familiar dwarven voice rang through the doorway. "Can I come in?" Frankly, Cullen did not want to see anyone in that moment but something about the sincerity in the rouge's voice caught him off guard.

"I... suppose so," he replied and watched as the door swung open and then shut again. Varric crossed the room and lowered himself down to the floor beside the commander with a sigh. They sat in an awkward silence for a moment before the dwarf spoke.

"So... some pretty wild shit, huh?"

"That's certainly one way to put it," Cullen replied slowly, apprehension ringing clearly in his voice. Varric, sensing the oncoming question, answered before it could be asked.

"You looked bad in the war room. Everyone looked bad, but with Kirkwall and everything... I wanted to make sure you were ok. Are you ok?"

"Honestly? No. Not in any sense of the word," Cullen replied. He had never exactly considered Varric a friend, but the realization of how desperately he needed someone to talk to about what had happened in Kirkwall suddenly dawned on him. It was not that he did not trust the dwarf, but he was constantly worried that anything he said in Varric's presence may somehow find its way into the author's next novel; his portrayal in _The Tale of the Champion_ was positively unflattering, although he knew it was somewhat deserved. But between the lyrium withdrawal, the flashbacks to Kinloch Hold, the nightmares about the Gallows, and the realization that Tranquility could be reversed, the poor Commander's world had officially been shattered. By the Maker, he needed someone to talk to. "Everything that's happened... the Rebellion in Kirkwall, the Mage-Templar War, the Conclave, the Inquisition, _everything_ could have been avoided. All this pain, all this death... it was all for nothing."

"I don't know if I'd say that," Varric interjected. "Tensions had been rising for centuries. Eventually, it was bound to all blow up—" Varric swore internally at himself for the poor choice of words, but Cullen seemed too trapped in his own head to notice.

"The things I've seen, Varric... the things I've _done_.... I thought I was fulfilling the Maker's will. I put blind faith in my commanding officers. I followed orders without question. And now? Knowing that all of this could have been avoided? I... I just...."

"I know, Curly," Varric said softly. "I know."

* * *

Days turned into weeks, but after what felt like a painstakingly long time Cassandra said they were finally ready. The mild morning frost covering Skyhold's gardens, along with the brisk chill nipping through the air, foretold the beginning of autumn as Dorian stared up at the sky; a gilded sun glimmered over the ramparts like a promise being fulfilled, the dire dangers of the world no less real but rather postponed, if only for a little while longer.

Dorian was more nervous than he had ever been in all of his life; more nervous than when he was expelled from Carastes' Circle at the age of nine for a rather unseemly duel with another magister's son, more nervous than when Magister Alexius had found him causing a drunken scene outside of a whorehouse in Minrathous' elven slums and had threatened to call the Templars—or worse, his father—to collect him, more nervous than when in the chantry of some lake-side village in Western Ferelden he turned to see a small Dalish elf with fiery eyes and a glowing green hand sneak him a smile that made his heart soar. The nervousness had gotten the better of him, and as such he had enlisted to wander the parapets until morning instead of attempting to sleep. He was so entangled in his own thoughts that he did not even see the elf rounding the corner until they collided.

Dorian yelped in alarm as Thel'hen stumbled soundlessly before the 'vint instinctively grabbed his arm to stop the elf from falling. He had not realized what he had done until he saw who's limb his hand was wrapped around.

"Thank you, Lord Pavus," Thel'hen said dryly, but Dorian was frozen on the spot. All he could seem to focus on was his lover's empty eyes, void of all the light and life that he had once loved. The elf's eyes were what Dorian first noticed when they had initially met; they shone with intelligence and intensity, which complimented the playful hint of mischief on his ever-present smile. Now his eyes dull and listless, as if his mind itself was vacant. 

"Just Dorian is fine, Inquisitor," he said softly. He thought about turning to flee, to put as much distance between himself and the shell of the man he had once loved, but Thel'hen's next question froze him to the ground.

"Why have I seen so little of you as of late?"

"I... I don't know how to explain it in a way you'd understand," Dorian stammered as he felt blood rush to his cheeks. _How do I tell you that I'm too selfish to be near you?_

"I understand," Thel'hen replied. "My presence brings you discomfort. I never intended to hurt you. I am sorry."

"No, Thel'hen, it's not your fault," Dorian rushed. "None of this is your fault." Thel'hen looked down to where Dorian was gripping him, seeing the 'vint's knuckles turn white as his fist trembled.

"I am steady now. There is no need to continue holding onto me. You can let me go." Dorian felt as if the elf had just stabbed him through the chest and his next words hitched in his throat.

"You're wrong, _amatus_. I will always need to hold onto you. I can never let you go."


	10. Into the Valley of Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassandra and Cullen attempt the Reversal Rite with help from Thedas' best (and most problematic) spirit healer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Canticle of Andraste 1:10
> 
> Trigger warning: self-harm  
> Spoiler warning for Dragon Age 2 (Act 3)

“Everything has a price. Everything has a toll. In the end, no matter what we do, no matter why we might do it, we all pay. Some of us more than others. And some of us never get to stop”

-Tessarey Forsythia, _Dragon Age: Magekiller,_ Vol. 1

* * *

"Who is this spirit healer of yours, Varric?" Cassandra asked as she and Cullen finished painting the Maker's symbol—a blazing sun enclosed within a circle—on the stone floor. She was pretending not to notice the Commander's eyes continually shifting towards the vials of lyrium on the nearby desk as they worked, but she could tell that even being near the stuff was difficult for him. Varric had been skimping out on any details as to the mage's identity, offering only snippets such as "Fereldan born" and "the son of a bitch owes me money" when Cassandra had pressed him; like most things with Varric, Cassandra found that it was beginning to irritate her immensely.

"Ah, no one you've ever met..." the dwarf shifted uncomfortably. He had volunteered to help the Seeker with the ritual's final preparations but now, as the healer's arrival drew closer, he had begun to regret that decision. "But as much as I hate to say it, and I _really_ do hate to say it, he's the best spirit healer in all of Thedas. If anyone can help the Inquisitor, it'll be him."

"He's so loud," Cole whispered, causing Cassandra to scream in alarm as the boy made his presence known on the table behind them, swinging his legs absentmindedly as he sat on the edge of the desk. "Shining brightly but so full of sorrow, two souls becoming one but distorted by desire. So much anger, so much pain... I could make him forget, but he doesn't want to. He wants to remember."

"Yeah, that sounds like him," Varric muttered. "I should probably go before he gets here. We're... not exactly on the best of terms anymore."

"I thought you said he owes you money!" Cassandra exclaimed as the dwarf turned to leave. "Since when do you not collect your debts?"

"Yeah.... it's not worth it," Varric replied. Cassandra opened her mouth to protest, but the dwarf wished them luck and hurried out the door before she could even say a word. The Iron Bull, Dorian, and Thel'hen arrived at the exact moment Varric left, the first two giving both the dwarf and the Seeker confused looks as they entered the room. Cassandra's face showed mutual bewilderment. Thel'hen looked around the room, seeing the candles, vials of lyrium, healing potions, and various scrolls all arranged neatly within. His head tilted slightly, but his face remained blank.

"What is all this, Seeker Pentaghast? Commander Rutherford? Is something the matter?" he asked dully. Now was Cassandra's time to shift uncomfortably as both she and Cullen avoided Thel'hen's gaze.

"Did you... not explain on the way here?" she asked the mage and qunari standing on either side of the Inquisitor.

"We tried, but he's having trouble understanding," The Iron Bull confessed.

"Ah, I see," Cassandra gulped. "We are attempting to cure your Tranquility, Inquisitor."

"Everyone keeps calling on my need for a 'cure', but I must insist that I am perfectly content. I am completely fine." 

"No, you're not _'fine'!"_ Dorian suddenly snapped. "Nothing about this is _'fine'!"_ If Thel'hen could have looked confused, he most likely would have; but instead, his head tilted slightly further as his blank eyes examined the Tevinter.

"I have upset you, Lord Pavus," the elf stated blandly. "I apologize."

"Yes—no— _kaffas—_ " Dorian swore. "I mean yes, you have upset me but no, you don't need to apologize. It's not your fault. None of this is your fault." There was a moment of silence, Cullen awkwardly pretending not to be in the room as Cassandra took a sudden interest in the texture of the floor.

"If attempting this 'cure' would make you feel better, I am happy to comply," Thel'hen offered. The words were like a punch to the gut, but Dorian simply nodded.

"Yes, I believe it would make me feel better."

A light knock broke the uncomfortable silence, followed by the sound of the Commander's armour clinking as he rushed to open the door. Leliana hurried inside and ushered the figures following her to do the same, as if fearing that the prying eyes of Skyhold would take notice of their new guests. Everyone except Cullen stood in shock as the Champion of Kirkwall entered with an expression of stone on his face, his fists and jaw clenched tightly and his eyes narrowed as he strode directly up to Cassandra without even acknowledging the other people in the room with so much as a glance.

"Hawke! You're not a healer—" Cassandra began, but she found herself being promptly interrupted by a threatening growl from the man in front of her. Cassandra was an undeniably foreboding woman, her very presence causing many to shrink before her on account of both her height and gravitas. Although she stood taller than Hawke by several inches, it suddenly appeared to all those in the room that _he_ was the one looming over _her_.

"If you touch a single hair on his head, Seeker, know that I will burn your Inquisition along with everything you love to the ground," Hawke snarled. Cassandra's confusion was clear to see across her face until she saw the healer who had been following Hawke. Her expression changed to that of immediate fury, but Hawke was ready for her as she lunged at the mage walking through the door. The element of surprise significantly aided Hawke and was likely the only reason he managed to hold the Seeker back long enough for Cullen to step between the raging Nevarran and the man standing nervously in the doorway.

 _ **"YOU!"**_ she roared as she tried to no avail to push past Cullen. **_"HOW DARE YOU SHOW YOUR FACE HERE, AFTER WHAT YOU'VE DONE!"_**

The mage's amber eyes were anxiously darting between Hawke and Cassandra as a blond strand of hair with the slightest tint of red fell from where the rest of his hair was fastened in a partial ponytail behind his head. He wore a dark Renegade's Coat and had fastened to his back a red steel staff with six shards of metal arranged in a circle on one end and a rudimentary replica of a dragon's jaw on the other. The Iron Bull, who was normally a master at masking his emotions, looked genuinely terrified; not for himself, but rather for the mage in the doorway.

"I'm sorry, am I missing something here?" Dorian asked. He had seen the Seeker angry before, but this was something entirely different. He had no idea who the man in the doorway was, but if he was important enough for the _Ben-Hassrath_ to know of him the man must be someone important.

"Am _I_ missing something here?" Cassandra screamed over Cullen's shoulder. "What is this terrorist doing here?"

 _"Terrorist?!"_ Dorian exclaimed.

"Yes, I suppose that could be considered accurate," the man grimaced, before holding out a pale hand for Dorian to shake. "Anders. Spirit healer, Grey Warden, and.... terrorist."

"Oh... _OH_ ," Dorian said. He was not often lost for words, but he suddenly found himself unable to say anything at all. He let Anders' hand hang empty in the air.

"We made a deal with him, Cassandra," Leliana said as Cullen once again blocked Anders from the Seeker's view. "Josephine, Cullen, and I all agreed it would be best."

"A _deal?_ ” Cassandra hissed, her face red with fury. "What kind of _deal?”_

" _If_ Anders is able to help reverse the Inquisitor's Tranquility—and that's a big 'if'—the Inquisition has agreed not to search for him or press charges against him," Cullen answered.

"This is a far cry from amnesty, Cassandra," the Spymaster reassured her as she saw the Seeker's anger soar even higher. "We will offer no asylum to him, nor will we protect him from being prosecuted by the Free Marches' Chantry. We have simply agreed that in exchange for his _invaluable_ service to the Inquisition we will not personally pursue him."

"Which we weren't even doing in the first place," Cullen added. "I hope you realize that this is not a decision any of us made lightly. I, for one, was in Kirkwall when he blew up the Chantry. I dealt with the fallout. I dealt with First Enchanter Orsino's blood magic and Knight-Commander Meredith's insanity. I know just how much damage this man has done. But Anders is not our concern, Corypheus is. Assuming Anders _can_ actually help, I am willing to recuse myself from the act of personally bringing him to justice." A sad smile briefly graced Anders' lips at the mention of 'justice', but he stayed silent. Cassandra, however, was fuming.

"And if he _can't_ help?" she snapped.

"Then," Anders answered before either advisor could reply, "the Inquisition may judge me as they see fit."

Cassandra's eyes narrowed. "Are you that confident in your ability to preform the Reversal Rite, _terrorist?"_

"No," Anders admitted. "I don't know if this will even work. I've seen Justice momentarily reverse the Rite, but from what Varric has told me the Inquisitor's case is... unique. But regardless, I am willing to try. After all, if the Inquisitor remains Tranquil and Corypheus succeeds in his mad plan to open the gates of Black City, there's not much of a point to me keeping my head on my shoulders anyway."

Anders stepped towards the elf, who was standing patiently in the middle of the room, but The Iron Bull intercepted him with a threatening growl that reverberated from deep within his scarred chest. Anders froze; he did not remember practically anything about his last encounter with a qunari, but that was because the Arishok had nearly cracked his skull in two and spilled his brains all over Kirkwall's docks. "Please, friend. I came here—against my better judgement and Hawke's persistent protests, I might add—because I'm trying to help you. I would not be here otherwise," he said as calmly as he could manage.

"Or you plan to murder him," the Bull snarled before he felt Dorian's hand on his arm. He looked down at the Tevinter mage whose face was a conflicted combination of despair and desperation. The Bull shot one last threatening glance at Anders before allowing Dorian to pull him out of the mage's path. Anders gave Dorian a small smile of appreciation and approached Thel'hen.

"I need to know if Justice can connect with him in the Waking World before I try to connect with him in the Fade. Is that alright?" he asked. Dorian nodded silently and watched with bated breath as Anders placed one hand on either side of the elf's face. Cassandra started forward, but Cullen stopped her once more. The healer closed his eyes and let his head drop slightly before his eyes shot open and his neck straightened. Blue light shone from his eyes and crackled across his exposed skin as if there was lightning trapped within his veins. Thel'hen's eyes grew wide and Dorian felt as if his heart had stopped in his chest.

" _Kill me_ ," Cole whispered from his perch on the table. _"Kill me, kill me, KILL ME, KILL ME!"_ He fell to the ground, clutching his ears and shutting his eyes tight as he began to convulse and scream. It was with horror that the entire room realized he was screaming with Thel'hen's voice. _**"KILLMEKILLMEKILLMEKILLME—"**_

"Maker’s breath! Anders, stop!" Cullen cried, dashing towards Cole before frantically turning his head to look at the mages in the center of the room. Anders was frozen in place, mouth fixed in a silent scream and glowing eyes opened wide. "Hawke, separate them!" Hawke lunged forward, grabbing Anders by the shoulders and pulling him away from the elf; the healer stumbled as the blue light faded from his eyes, and Thel'hen's face immediately returned to its normal catatonic state. Cole had stopped screaming, but he was still covering his ears and shaking. Dorian rushed towards Thel'hen to make sure the elf was alright while Cassandra helped Cullen steady Cole. The Iron Bull felt as if he was rooted to the floor, a mere spectator powerless to change the horror that was playing out before his eyes.

"Cold and dark and wet," Cole sobbed from the floor, rocking in the commander's awkward arms. "Hands hurting places they shouldn't, _please_ _don't leave me here!"_

"What did you see, Cole?" Cassandra asked, which only caused the boy to break down again.

" _Vishante kaffas,_ leave him alone, Cassandra!" Dorian barked before whirling on Anders. "And _YOU!_ What in the Void was _that?!"_

"I... I don't know," Anders admitted as Hawke practically held him upright. "It felt like he attacked Justice, somehow. I can't explain it."

"But you _did_ make contact with him, right?" the Bull asked. Anders nodded slowly.

"So you could reverse the Rite?"

"Theoretically, yes. But if the reversal process is as complex as Varric made it out to be, it will take an incredible amount of power. Your mages will not be able to help, either. The more souls in this room the more complicated the ritual will become. Seeker Pentaghast can perform the Reversal Rite, Justice and I will guide Thel'hen's soul across the Veil, and the Knight-Commander can stand by in case anything goes awry," Anders replied. Upon seeing Cullen's scowl, the mage was quick to correct himself. "Sorry, _former_ Knight-Commander. But regardless, the rest of you will have to go."

"I'm not okay with that," The Iron Bull growled. "I want to be here."

"Never thought I'd say this, but I agree with the qunari," Hawke said as he crossed his arms. "I admire your trust in the Inquisition, love, but it's a trust I frankly do not share." 

"It'll be fine," Anders insisted, challenging Hawke's glare with one his own. "I can handle myself, Hawke."

"You're not the one I'm worried about," Hawke replied as his eyes shot daggers at Cassandra. She glared back with identical intensity before Anders cleared his throat and shooed them all out the door.

* * *

Eventually, the screaming became too much for Dorian to bear. He practically kicked down the door as he stormed into the chamber, with Hawke and The Iron Bull close behind. Anders and Thel'hen were both collapsed in the center of the circle Cassandra had painted earlier, the blue light just fading from Anders' eyes as Hawke rushed to his side. As Hawke helped Anders slowly rise to his feet, The Iron Bull fell by the Inquisitor's motionless form and pushed the elf's hair off his brow. Dorian choked back a sob; the brand, in all its horrific glory, still remained.

" _Fasta vass_ , you've been at this for nearly half an hour!" Dorian cried. "Why isn't it _working?!"_

Anders grimaced, placing the heel of his hand to his temple as Hawke gently guided him to a chair and brought a vial of lyrium to his lips. 

"His mind is too fractured," Anders muttered between sips, the exhaustion clear in his voice. "He keeps calling Justice a demon. He keeps _fighting_ me, pulling away before I can get close...."

 _"Vashedan,"_ the Bull swore.

"Would... would he be more accepting of a spirit he's familiar with?" Dorian said slowly. Anders' brow furrowed in confusion.

"Maybe? But I don't know how you would do that; to deliberately send a soul into the Fade and actually have them reach their intended destination would take tremendous amounts of power. Justice is different because he is a spirit who _belongs_ in the Fade, but even sending him across the Veil is pushing the boundaries of my powers. You have nowhere near the amount of lyrium that even _attempting_ such a feat would require, and even if you did a single mage consuming that much lyrium would likely be dead in minutes," Anders answered.

"Could you channel that designated location through me? Thel'hen's location, that is?" Dorian asked, completely ignoring everything Anders had said after 'maybe'.

"I suppose, but I couldn't actually send you—" Anders started, but Dorian nodded grimly and turned to the Bull before the other mage could finish. Dorian grabbed the qunari and pulled the warrior towards him, standing up on the tips of his toes so that their heads were mere inches apart. The Iron Bull could practically feel the nervous fluttering of the mage's heart beneath his skin, but the determination on Dorian's face told him that the mage was completely confident in the success of whatever he was about to do.

"Bull, do you trust me?" Dorian whispered as The Iron Bull leaned down so that their foreheads touched. 

"Always, _kadan_."

"Good. Now go get our boyfriend back. And... do try to forgive me." With that, the 'vint tilted his head up to press a gentle kiss onto the Bull's forehead before pulling out a knife and slicing open his own wrists.

The Iron Bull was in the Fade before he could even scream. Or, he thought it was the Fade; it looked different than he remembered, but that gut-wrenching dread he had felt at Adamant when they had been thrown into the Dreaming World was exactly the same. _I'm never trusting that 'vint ever again,_ he thought to himself as he squinted. His vision was distorted as if he were looking through a smoke screen, and the disjointed sounds echoing around him were somehow too loud and too soft all at the same time. He swore and tired to take a step forward but immediately felt something unseen tugging him in the opposite direction. _Great. Even in the Fade Dorian has to be bossy._ He turned obediently, and that's when he saw him; Thel'hen's body looked just as it had when the Bull had found him, all bruises and broken bones and blood. The elf was curled up as tight as he could manage and was weakly rocking back and forth, all the while whispering trembling words under his breath.

"Crimson, candied dates, _e_ _lgar_ , make the choice, crimson, candied dates, _e_ _lgar,_ make the choice, crimson, candied dates—"

"Thel'hen!" the Bull yelled as he sprang towards Thel'hen's crouched form, although he saw (rather than felt) himself move through the mist. The elf's head snapped up, eyes wild and full of fear, and he scrambled to his feet.

"Stay back, demon! You will not have me! I will not be an abomination!" Thel'hen screeched as he stumbled backward, skidding over flesh-coloured rocks through the muddy green haze.

" _Kadan,_ it's me," the Bull cried as he continued forward. "It's your _vhenan._ I've come to take you home!"

_"LIES! I will not fall for your trickery, Imshael!"_

"It's not trickery, Thel, and I'm not Imshael!" the Bull insisted. Thel'hen simply laughed.

"What, are you running out of ideas, oh 'choice spirit'? We've already done this charade before, or have you forgotten? Let me remind you; 'The Iron Bull' rescues me, takes me back to Skyhold, and _then,_ as soon as I'm nice and safe and warm, you pull me out of that beautiful illusion and back into the _real world._ I must admit that your use of the Fade for psychological torture is brilliant, but now that I've caught on I think it's time we move to something else, don't you?"

"Thel'hen, _please,_ " The Iron Bull begged. "I'm not Imshael. Imshael is _dead._ Yes, you're stuck in the Fade, but it's at Skyhold, not Suledin. That stupid 'vint of ours had to use blood magic just so that I could find you here!" 

"Blood magic!" Thel'hen scoffed. "You really are getting sloppy, Imshael. If you even knew anything about Dorian, you would know that he would never stoop so low. He says blood magic is the—"

"—'resort of the weak mind'," The Iron Bull finished in his best impression of _Dorian's_ best impression of Halward Pavus. _Help him remember_ _,_ a gentle voice whispered distantly in the back of his mind _._ Under any other circumstances, The Iron Bull would have been absolutely terrified; however, as he found himself stuck in the Fade with the disembodied soul of one lover while his other lover was likely bleeding to death next to him in the physical world, everything else seemed suddenly insignificant. "He also likes Fereldan beer, although he'll never admit it," the Bull continued. "He's allergic to stripweed, he gets terribly seasick, and he always cheats when he plays chess. And right now in the Waking World he is bleeding out in one of Skyhold's towers for the simple chance that we might be able to bring you _home._ " Thel'hen froze and for the most fleeting moment The Iron Bull saw something beautiful and dangerous flash in the elf's eyes: _hope._ But the expression vanished as quickly as it had appeared, leaving nothing but terror in its stead.

"No, no this isn't real, you're not real, you can't be real..." Thel'hen quavered, taking another step back as his hands grasped desperately over his ears.

"I am real," The Iron Bull insisted as gently as he could. _Help him_ remember _, The Iron Bull._ "Do you remember when the Qunari sent those men after me to officially declare me Tal-Vashoth? I'd been dosing myself with the antidote for Saar-Qamek for weeks, but it turned out what I really should have been chugging was Electrical Resistance Tonic. You were so angry I thought you just might throw me over the ramparts to join those would-be assassins on the rocks below. I chipped a tooth thanks to that damn lightning bolt you hit me with, but after both you and Dorian had finished chewing me out we all got drinks with the Chargers. Sera kept sticking those 'underwater firecrackers' of hers into your mug and you threatened to personally fling her into the next rift we found. Cabot eventually got so fed up with us that he kicked us out, and the next day Josephine scolded us for nearly an hour while Leliana stood behind her back trying not to laugh."

"No, no no" Thel'hen trembled. "This is all a trick. There was a demon here before... he was calling out to me, trying to get me to go somewhere with him, but I was so scared..."

"That wasn't a demon, Thel, that was Justice. It's complicated, but he's here to help you. I... I came for you at Suledin Keep, _kadan_. It took a few days, but I got there. And I was too late. I failed you. Imshael made you Tranquil, Thel. Your mind has been trapped in the Fade for _months_." Thel'hen was frozen on the spot, his entire body shaking as the Bull looked him in the eyes. "I failed you then, _kadan,_ but I will not fail you again. Please, let me take you home. Please, I know it's hard, I know it's scary, but please just trust me. We need you, _kadan._ The Inquisition needs you. _WE_ need you. In case the whole blood magic thing didn't tip you off, Dorian is losing his mind. Neither of us can live without you. Please, just _come home_."

The qunari had seen a lot of scared people in his life. After all, part of his job under the Qun required him to make people afraid. But when the elf finally looked him in the eyes, fresh tears spilling onto his already tear-stained face, The Iron Bull realized he had never seen anybody more terrified in his entire life. The Inquisitor's voice broke when he next spoke, but he spoke all the same.

"Ok, Bull. Take me home."

* * *

Someone was yelling his name and it was dreadfully annoying. When they refused to stop, The Iron Bull begrudgingly opened his eyes just in time to see Cassandra's hand fly across his face.

".... ow," he said halfheartedly, although it was more out of surprise than pain. He barely felt the slap, but slowly clarity began to return to his mind as he sat up.

"Oh thank the Maker!" Cassandra sighed. 

"How long?" the Bull asked as he rubbed his eye.

"Only a few seconds," Cullen answered. When the Bull turned towards him, he saw the Commander kneeling in front of Dorian and frantically wrapping bandages around the mage's wrists.

"SHIT," The Iron Bull yelled as he forcibly shoved the ex-Templar aside and cradled Dorian's oddly pale body in his arms, the wave of panic crashing over him abruptly clearing all residual grogginess from his mind. "Fuck, get me a healing potion or some lyrium or something!" Cullen sprang into action, grabbing a healing draught from the desk and swiftly pouring the red content down Dorian's throat. It was not until the mage drew in a shaky breath that The Iron Bull realized he had not been breathing either. Then, with his heart pounding in his ears, he slowly turned his gaze to the elf lying in the center of the room.

"Is... is he...." the Iron Bull choked, unable to even ask. Cassandra knelt by the Inquisitor and gingerly pushed back his hair to check his forehead. She stood with a sigh and hung her head before turning to address Anders, who the Bull now saw was being supported entirely by Hawke.

"The Inquisition may have a deal with you, mage, but I want you to know that I will _personally_ attend your execution when the Chantry finally catches you." Despite the sickly shade of the mage's face and his inability to stand on his own, Anders smiled.

"I look forward to seeing you there, Seeker Pentaghast," he said with obvious difficulty.

"I can hear him again!" Cole yelled from the doorway, causing Cassandra to scream in alarm for a second time that day as she whirled around and punched Cole in the face. He responded with a similarly despondent "ow" as The Iron Bull had, while Cassandra switched from frightened to apologetic to angry over the course of a single sentence. "I can hear him again, The Iron Bull. You helped him remember." Cole continued, ignoring the Seeker entirely. The Iron Bull barely heard Cole's words as he reached a trembling hand around Thel'hen's waist and pulled the mage into his arms directly beside Dorian; the elf's head rolled back and when the Bull saw his forehead he suddenly forgot that anyone else was in the room. He began to sob uncontrollably, an unconscious mage in either arm as an array of whispered words fell from his lips.

"Ya did good, ya stupid 'vint. Ya did good."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if you hate Anders but oopsy-doopsy that's just how life goes sometimes ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


	11. Epilogue: Let Chaos Be Undone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I mean... it's an epilogue, friends. Idk what you're expecting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Canticle of Victoria 1:03
> 
> Potential trigger warning: PTSD, panic attacks, and trauma-related amnesia/paramnesia

“The fade has a way of disguising the truth. Just like a good story”

-Varric, _Dragon Age: Until We Sleep_ Vol.2

* * *

Thel'hen woke screaming. Months had passed since the Reversal Rite had been performed, but the scars—both physical and mental—still remained. Much to Thel'hen's delight, both Dorian and the Bull had decided to stay with the Inquisition despite Corypheus' defeat. Dorian often talked of returning to Tevinter in the noble hope of improving his country, but he refused to return to his homeland while Thel'hen so clearly needed him to stay by his side. The elf knew the other mage's annoyingly-heartfelt sense of duty to making Tevinter a better place would eventually take Dorian from him, but until then Thel'hen was resolved to enjoy every moment he had with the man. Well, _almost_ every moment.

Distantly, Thel'hen felt Dorian lay a hand on someone _else's_ shoulder. This was not his body; it was that of a stranger, the body of some unknown man that somehow Thel'hen's mind was now inside. This man, this stranger, his chest was too small to be Thel'hen's; each gasp of air the elf inhaled felt like it would cause the unfamiliar lungs to burst. He kept trying to breathe, but it was not enough; this body's lungs were simply too small, he needed more air than this chest would allow. He became dizzy, so he started breathing faster, wheezing with each frantic inhale as the world around him began spinning, somehow spiraling both vertically and horizontally all at the same time. He could vaguely feel the bed beneath him but it was as if his brain was refusing to focus on anything other than the panic in his lungs and the turmoil in his mind. This body was not his, it _could not_ be his. The limbs were too numb to be his, the ears rang too much to be his, this body was not _his._

But it was.

 _"DON'T TOUCH ME!"_ Thel'hen screamed as he flew off the bed and away from Dorian's grasp. He fell hard onto the floor and frantically backed into a corner, each panicked breath coming faster than the last as across the room The Iron Bull similarly sprang out of bed. As soon as the qunari realized what was happening, he knelt down to Thel'hen's level in a desperate attempt to catch his attention. It must have been the middle of the night, for the only light illuminating the room came from the small ball of fire emanating from Dorian's fingertips. The long shadows cast by the dancing flames only caused Thel'hen to panic further and he began to sob, tears streaming uncontrollably down his face as he gasped for air that inevitably would not be enough. He knew he was crying but frankly he did not care; he was too focused on the tightness in his chest to even bother acknowledging the tears.

"Just breathe, Thel'hen, just breathe," The Iron Bull whispered. "It was only a dream. You're ok. You're safe. Just focus on my voice and take some deep breaths." The qunari maintained a calm composure that was a stark contrast to the look of dismay on Dorian's face, and as gradually Thel'hen's breathing began to slow The Iron Bull moved closer to the terrified elf on the floor. Each moment that passed felt like an agonizing eternity as Dorian sat on the bed, helpless as he watched Thel'hen shaking in the corner as the Bull's soft voice mumbled meaningless reassurances until finally the elf's breathing slowed.

"Are... are you real?" Thel'hen asked, his voice breaking as his chest shook. He wanted more than anything to throw himself into the qunari's arms, but in the back of his mind ever-lingered the idea that he was still trapped in the Fade and that all this—his rescue, his reversed Tranquility, Corypheus' defeat, everything—was simply an elaborate ruse of Imshael's design. It was a fear that was seldom put into words, but one that Thel'hen knew The Iron Bull was constantly aware of.

"Yes, I'm real," The Iron Bull nodded. "You're back at Skyhold, Thel. Everything's ok." 

"The nightmares are getting worse, aren't they?" Dorian asked gravely as the Bull handed Thel'hen a handkerchief. The elf nodded weakly as he manufactured a few slow albeit unsteady breaths. "I'm sorry I touched your shoulder. I didn't intend to make things worse," Dorian added after a moment.

"Not your fault. You couldn't have known," Thel'hen choked out, his voice still quavering as he desperately tried to control each inhale he took. The Iron Bull knew better, of course; he had seen enough panic attacks whilst working in Seheron to know how to deal with them, and had personally experienced more panic attacks himself than the Qun would rather he admit. Thel'hen's panic attacks had been becoming less and less frequent as time went on—although even seeing a Templar uniform still sent the elf spiraling into a justifiable hysteria—but the night terrors seemed to have replaced the daily attacks in both frequency and intensity.

"Are you ok, boss?" The Iron Bull asked gently. He had not even had the chance to throw on his eyepatch when he sprang out of bed, but his back was to Dorian's flame and as such the remainder of his empty eye socket was enveloped in shadows.

"Yeah," Thel'hen lied, the remnants of the dream still sticking to his skin in the form of a cold sweat. A hint of a frown flashed across The Iron Bull's brow and Thel'hen knew his lie had not gone unnoticed. Regardless, seeing the pain in Dorian's eyes and the worry in the Bull's face made the elf try to will that lie into becoming the truth. Growing up, Keeper Deshanna had always told him that one cannot will themselves to recover, no matter how hard they tried. She said that healing took time, and even when scars fade the body does not forget because the mind does not forget. Thel'hen respected his Keeper; she was the wisest person and most powerful mage that he knew. He strove to hold her teaching close to his heart, to seek guidance in her lessons and heed her advice. Yet now, more than ever, he wished she was wrong.

The mind is a fickle thing. Trauma is complex and memories are unreliable. Thel'hen remembered being Tranquil as if it were a dream within a dream. He numbly remembered it all, for he had been conscious, in a sense, while Tranquil; yet nothing had felt genuine to him, as if nothing held any consequence for at any moment he would wake up and everything would be _real_ again. His memory of Suledin Keep was what troubled him. Thel'hen's mind had walled off certain memories to protect itself, leaving gaps in his memory that his imagination had been forced to fill. 

"I feel like I'm losing my mind. I don't know what's real anymore," Thel'hen whispered. When his memory issues had first begun, Solas had astutely—and rather unhelpfully—informed him that extreme trauma can occasionally result in both the loss of real memories as well as the creation of false ones. And then the haughty recluse of a mage vanished from the Inquisition without a word the second he saw that Corypheus' orb had shattered. Leliana had been searching for the elf to no avail, but Thel'hen had been rather preoccupied with mysteries of his own. Not knowing which of his disjointed collection of fragmented memories were real and which were not was torturous. Some of his memories were coming back, but despite the terror he was reliving with every revelation not knowing was somehow even worse. There was too much going on inside his head and he just wanted it to _stop_.

"I see him everywhere," the elf continued feebly. "I see his reflection in the glass of Skyhold's ridiculous windows. I see his templars in the training grounds when our soldiers are doing drills. I see his sadistic smile when I close my eyes. It's like he's following me, like he's always watching. I can practically _feel_ him. I see him everywhere and _I can't get him out of my head!"_

"Hey boss, it's gonna be ok. That son of a bitch is dead, he can't hurt you anymore. We'll get through this together," The Iron Bull promised as convincingly as he could when, in reality, he had absolutely no idea if things ever would ever be 'ok' again. His specialty had always been breaking people, not fixing them. Thankfully, Dorian nodding behind him in agreement made the Bull's pledge more believable.

"Everything is going to be alright, _amatus,_ and if you think otherwise then you clearly have not seen the stubbornness of House Pavus in action," Dorian reassured him. He knelt beside the trembling elf and opened his arms to offer Thel'hen a hug, which the Inquisitor flew into without a moment's hesitation as he buried his face in Dorian's shoulder. Thel'hen felt surprisingly tiny in Dorian's arms; the elf had been rapidly losing weight since the Reversal Rite, as if his body had given up on the idea of existence entirely. Dorian found it equally annoying and troublesome.

"I would tear this world apart for you, Thel'hen. I would cross the Fade and back for you. I would fight a million demons, kill a million Venatori, do _anything_ to keep you safe. I would storm the Golden City myself if I had to. You and Bull mean _everything_ to me, and there is nothing I wouldn't do to make you happy," Dorian whispered as he wrapped one arm around Thel'hen and stroked the elf's hair.

"We've got you, _kadan,_ " The Iron Bull promised as he wrapped both mages into his arms. He felt a tear rolling down his cheek but he ignored it, electing to kiss the top of Thel'hen's head rather than wipe the tear away. In truth, The Iron Bull was terrified. He knew that Dorian was itching to return to Tevinter, and Josephine had dolefully informed him a few days prior that the Inquisition could not afford to pay the Chargers for much longer. Although the world had been saved, his world was falling apart. He just wanted to break down, to drink himself into a stupor and forget about how circumstance might rip them apart just when Thel'hen needed them most. But The Iron Bull knew he had to be strong; Thel'hen _needed_ him to be strong.

He would never let his _kadan_ down ever again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so, _so_ much to everyone who has been following this story, especially to all those who have left kudos and/or comments! I'm currently writing a Trespasser-related sequel for the explicit version of this work, and I will definitely modify it to be less explicit if people seem interested in reading that (so, I guess, let me know if a non-explicit sequel is something you'd like to see). Either way, thank you for reading my little story! I hope you enjoyed it :)


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